As Bad As It Looks
by Daemon faerie queen
Summary: To celebrate their marriages, The Doctor takes Rory to a pleasure planet as a post-wed stag event. Their enjoyment is short-lived when the simulations go terribly wrong. Someone wants payback, and they've lured the Tenth Doctor too. Cameo-full fanservice!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **_Aand this is why I've not been updating my Sparrow fics. I'm terribly obsessed again with Doctor Who, and have been splurging related things on my deviantART (SparrowandJesh). Thought I'd get uploading this one on here, but stylistically it's nicer on dA ;D Enjoy, fanfic lovers! -x-_

* * *

><p>"Trust me, Rory, this'll be the best stag party you'll ever have, ever!"<p>

The Doctor danced around the TARDIS console, turning taps and jimmying levers.

"Forget ladies in cakes, well, the one you didn't have. Forget enormous fake rude parts and regrettable karaoke. This will be a night to remember!"

His current companion, who looked as though he had been dragged out of bed at four o'clock in the morning, made a pained face. "Doctor, I really don't think this is necessary. Amy and I are already married." He paused in rubbing sleep from his eyes to add, "For about a year… and then we had a baby… who is now older than us and… married to you -."

"Sort of."

"Sort of married to you."

"Nonsense, Rory, this is absolutely necessary. I'll never live with myself knowing I ruined your first one. I mean – bursting out in front of your friends and letting out that Amy kissed me – terribly embarrassing."

Rory scowled. "And yet you still keep bringing it up."

The Doctor peered guiltily from behind the console. "Yes…" Breaking eye contact, he continued to poke buttons and turn dials. "Anyway, like you said, I'm sort of married now, so it can be a _joint _stag adventure!" He ducked out of sight and reappeared with a ludicrous piece of headgear. "Look, I even have the antlers!"

"Doctor, I don't know what the general standing is with ethics as a timelord, but it's not typically acceptable to do… stag stuff… once you've got married."

"Not to worry, Mr Pond," The Doctor replied, grinning. "The best thing about where I'm taking you is that it's all pretend. Absolutely harmless to a relationship so long as you only visit the once." He nudged Rory on the arm as he passed. "Especially good if you've got a really understanding other half."

Rory nodded. "River doesn't know about this, does she?" It was hardly considered a question.

"No."

"Amy's going to kill me, isn't she?"

"Not if she doesn't find out."

A gleaming scene of lawns and cobble paths, dabbed with picnic tables and chattering families, presented itself beyond the open door of the TARDIS. Sculptures sprouted from the varying coloured grasses, shapely but tasteful, jetting water at children playing. At least, they were probably children. Some of those shrieking in delight had wings instead of arms or purple decagons instead of eyeballs; others had what seemed to be party streamers for hair, hair which came out of their backs like strange, wonderful spikes. Rory gaped at a little girl who ran shrieking past him in pursuit of a duck. His gaze then moved skyward to the stretch of cityscape: vast spires and splendid domes, crowned with the soft hues of a controlled atmosphere; pinks, greens and golds.

The Doctor closed the door behind them and walked ahead, eyes and smile bright, his arms spread wide. "Welcome to Hedonis 4, the best pleasure planet in the universe. Taps into your wildest dreams and desires and brings them to life. Well, maybe not your _wildest _dreams. The fleeting ones, the fantasies, the ones you only talk about when you get too drunk to stop yourself. Kind of like one big stonking game of Spin the Bottle, except you don't have to kiss anyone you don't like. I'm blathering again, and that made it sound rubbish." Lacking his companion's input, he turned. "Why have you got your fingers in your ears?"

"Cold shower, cold shower, cold shower…"

Rolling his eyes, The Doctor walked over and pulled Rory's arms down. "It's okay, Rory. This is the family friendly section. Your thoughts aren't going to start popping out all over the place. Look, see? Ooh, did you see that? He's got an Ixelskater, always wanted a go on one of those. Absolutely smashing. Oh yeah, and over there's an inter-galactic theme park. Makes Disney feel like an old merry-go-round." He laughed, sorely tempted to head in that direction. Instead he let his glee trail off into an odd cringing noise and turned to face the vast complex further along the cobbled path. "Come along then, Pond. We're not boys now." He straightened his bowtie and marched on, felt antlers and all.

"I'm not… it's Williams!" Rory sighed and followed.

They arrived in a plainly-decorated lobby. Clusters of white sofas and bizarrely-shaped stools harboured relaxing customers whilst black-scaled amphibian creatures sashayed about in suits behind a beige counter. The Doctor approached the vendors, leaving Rory to blink oafishly at the clientele. Humanoids in expensive clothes walked by arm-in-arm, sharing secret giggles; translucent, shapeless beings hovered by, singing and likely inebriated; and something that could only be described as a blue squid was lounging and bubbling on a settee. After that, he almost fainted at what he saw next.

"Amy…" he choked.

"Here, idiot, put this on." His wife reached out and slapped a black device around his arm. She then proceeded to place one hand on the hip of her pyjamas and offered him a cup of dark liquid with her other. "Coffee?"

"Er…"

The Doctor sauntered over, now with what looked like a fraction of a headset nestled neatly beneath his antlers. "Ah, I see you've got your Tinter band. Great stuff. Okay, now, you just need to stick this at your temple," he waved a thin curve of plastic identical to the thing he was wearing, "and we're ready to go."

"Doctor…" Rory pointed to Amy.

"Hello," The Doctor said and offered his arm. Another device appeared in Amy's hand and was fitted to his wrist. He looked back to Rory, nonplussed. "What's the matter? Drink up. The Tinter devices partly respond to particles in the bloodstream, but you have to ingest them first."

"Doctor… it's Amy…"

With a particularly smug smile, The Doctor tilted his head and looked at her. "Is it?"

"Well, yeah, it rather looks a lot like her," Rory said, annoyed.

"No, no, no. This is a hostess. Or host. Depends on your perspective, who's addressing it. It's a simulation around a robotic core, designed to put guests at ease."

"I really don't feel at ease."

"Why? Is she malfunctioning? Images are supposed to be quite tame out here, scanning surface memories. You haven't even had chance to adjust the settings." The Doctor lowered his voice to a whisper. "She's not wearing that skirt again, is she?"

"No, it's just -." Rory hesitated. "You mean you can't see her?"

"As I said, depends on perspective. The hosts appear differently to whoever interacts with them. The Tinters you're wearing will activate once inside the proper complex. Then you can pick and choose, see the sights, make things as private or open as you like. It's a clever thing, won't go any further into the dark spots of your mind than you allow and won't bring out any of those visions of things that make you squirm after two seconds of thought process. Bad for business."

"As a nurse, I'm strongly advising myself not to drink this." Rory winced and then took the cup of fake coffee from his simulated wife. He gulped it down, finding it to be cold and reminding him of raisins. The Doctor followed his example and then started walking.

"Off we go. Lots to see! Rory and The Doctor's Stag-A-Thon 2011!" He spun in mid-stride to pull a face. "Not calling it that. The t-shirts would be awful."

Rory fidgeted nervously, gaze evading the door they were heading toward. "Doctor, exactly how many times have you been here?" Despite his fear, the sourness in his tone remained sharp as ever.

"Two or three."

"Is that hundreds or thousands we're counting in?"

"Oi! I resent that torrent of implications. I'll have you know my previous visits were of a business or purely by-standing nature, although Miss Laena's in the spa region does do a cracking massage."

"So who do the hosts look like to you?"

"None of your business."


	2. Chapter 2

Guided through the complex by the host simulations, Rory and The Doctor were left outside their prepared chambers. Two oval doors stood at right angles, each leading to a set of connected suites for the individual's entertainment, nothing overblown about the décor.

"Doctor, um, I'm not sure about this. How does this work, exactly?"

The Doctor gave Rory a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "It's fine. It's a perfectly controlled environment. Your Tinters, so-called from the old saying 'rose-tinted glasses', respond to your thoughts and feelings. They won't do anything to alarm you," he grinned, "unless that's your sort of thing." Pointing to the wrist device, he explained, "There you have more direct controls for setting, scenery, personal security and level of… of indulgence, and that's before you get to the password protected ones, so no fear. Simulations are defaulted to being totally private, entirely down to your consent. So go on, go have fun. That's an order." He gave Rory a playful shove toward the door before turning to face his own.

"Right, well…" Rory puffed out his cheeks and psyched himself to brave the unknown. "I guess I'll see you later then." He walked through his door and out of sight. Pleased with himself at a plan well carried out, The Doctor sighed, rubbed his thumbs ponderously against his index fingers and then entered his suite.

He smiled knowingly at what was waiting for him, leaning back against the door he had pulled shut. Adjoining rooms spanned haphazardly from a central, winding corridor that split off like a simple-routed maze. From here he could spy a few of their contents: one made up entirely of a bouncy castle, another with a swimming pool, there was one filled with loose wires and puzzle pieces, and somewhere further along he could hear a soothing _vworp vworp_. Standing in the doorways were simulations of girls he had loved, even some he had only thought of in passing. They smiled at him, waiting. The Doctor smiled back. He reached for his wrist controls and scrolled through the options.

"Thanks, but no thanks," he said gently, and ended their programmes. The dozens of tiny bots that made up each of the images revealed themselves and scattered, leaving The Doctor in peace. He wandered the path in search of a place to rest. "All I want is to sit down with a good book, a cuppa tea and a plate of Jammie Dodgers," he assured himself, adding, "and maybe a bath, with lots of bubbles." He wrung his hands gleefully and set about poking his head into each room.

Having scurried out from a kitchen piled ceiling-high with his favourite biscuit, The Doctor located a cosy drawing room with a soft leather armchair and a ready tea-set on a table beside. Moments later he was set up with a copy of _The Pickwick Papers _and adorned with a fez from the room's necessary hat-stand. Utterly content, with the excitement of his preparations subsided, the timelord slipped into a doze.

"Hello sweetie." The two words, whispered in his ear, roused him from sleep. He murmured without language and rubbed his face. His lack of solitude occurred to him and he turned his head carefully.

"Hello, River." His senses caught up with him. Green eyes wide, he sprang from the armchair and spun back to face her. "You're a simulation." He swept a clumsy glance over her black silk nightgown and swallowed. "Yes, of course. Must've… knocked the settings." River smiled warmly and stepped closer as he began tapping furiously on his wrist strap. "Er… er… come on… there we go, end programme. End programme!" The Doctor jabbed the command for the simulation to dissipate and exhaled his relief.

A hand pressed its palm to his chest. Both hearts pounded as he looked to her still-present face. "It's not you, it can't be." He searched her eyes for answers, finding only blind desire. The Doctor stepped back and plucked his sonic screwdriver from his inside pocket. He activated the emitter, green light sparking in the low-lit room. The vision of River ceased to transmit. Tiny silvery bots zoomed apart. It was a short-lived victory, however. The Doctor covered his ears at the booming, computerised voice that filled his suite.

_PLEASE REFRAIN FROM TAMPERING WITH THE SIMULATIONS. IF YOU REQUIRE ASSISTANCE, PLEASE USE YOUR TROUBLESHOOTING GUIDE PROVIDED. ENJOY YOUR STAY._

Almost at once, the bots he had scared off whizzed back into position and reconstituted the signal of River's image. The Doctor's face fell. He backed off toward the door, throwing anxious smiles in her direction in between a frantic exploration of his wrist gadget. "Troubleshooting…troubleshooting… why don't you just have a button that says 'Help!'?" He gave a frustrated growl, interrupted by his back connecting with the door. River moved in so close he had to bring the device to within an inch of his face. _Beep beep beep_ – his fingers moved as a blur, tapping and sliding the functions on the minute display. "I hate touchscreen! Why did this ever catch on? Whoever invented it needs a kick up the -."

"_Yes, Chamber Lamda Four? Do you require assistance?" _ a reptilian voice rasped.

"Hello, yes! Assistance, yes!" The Doctor cried, desperately not looking at the hand squeezing his arm. "The bots have malfunctioned!"

"_Have you tried lowering your settings?" _the voice replied with a remarkable lack of urgency.

"I don't _have _any settings. I turned the bots _off_! But they're still here and very much working, so will you do something, please, and quickly!"

"_A technician will be with you shortly. Please remain calm." _The com crackled off.

The Doctor grimaced. "Calm, right, yeah…" He tried to ignore the nibbling that must have been happening to someone else's ear. "It's not real, it's not real, there's no physical contact. It's all just electrical impulses sending signals to my brain. Clever, clever lies. That's not a real mouth, trick of the light and the senses. I am The Doctor, I can see through the illusion, I'm better than that, I can – AGH!" He leapt away, hand clamped to the side of his face. "Not a real tongue!" He seized the door handle and pointed sternly at her. "Bad River! Stay!" Darting out into the corridor, he slammed the entrance to the drawing room shut and locked it with his sonic. Not allowing his alertness to fade, he kept his screwdriver at the ready and paced the corridor back toward the start. He peered quickly into each room he passed lest more rogue simulations arrive, on edge at every turn.

At last the suite's entrance opened and a black-scaled attendant – a Tephalisk – strode in. It was a strange creature, a foot shorter than The Doctor. Unlike its brethren at the welcome desk, this one was outfitted in plates of metal and hundreds of colourful wires. A large yellow visor hid its eyes like sunglasses, miniscule data symbols typing and changing in one of the lenses. Over its shoulder was slung a tightly-packed tool belt. The visor regarded the timelord with hidden emotion, the stubby crocodile snout twitching.

"Show me the problem," it said with a glint of sharp teeth.

The Doctor led the technician back to the sealed drawing room, grinding his teeth with inadequacy. "In there." He stopped the Tephalisk before it could reach for the handle. "Wait." He zapped the lock with his screwdriver. The creature stared at him long enough for him to let out a begrudging "sorry." After several agitating minutes of wandering back and forth outside whilst the tech dealt with his fake significant other, the Tephalisk returned.

"We apologise, Doctor. There was a pocket of corrupted data. The signal from your Tinter was not transmitting correctly. A patch is now in operation and a complimentary spa coupon will be uploaded to your device. I hope this has not discouraged you from continuing your stay?"

"No, no," The Doctor replied with a tired smile. "Quite all right. Can't have everything working a hundred percent all the time. The universe would be horribly dull." He nodded appreciatively. "Thanks."

The Tephalisk tech clicked its tongue and clattered on its way again. The Doctor stood basking in the silence of his rooms, ever so faintly missing the company to which he had grown used. Being alone with a mind this old was not always a boon. Plenty of memories and doubts waited just below the surface to claw at his soul. The timelord could stand in utter stillness but his mind was deafening. He rubbed the back of his neck and then went mumbling down the hallway.

"Towel…"


	3. Chapter 3

This was more like it. Contentment had reached The Doctor at last as he lay immersed in blissfully hot water, up to his neck in twinkling foam. One arm draped lazily over the side of the great inverted trapezoid forming the bath whilst he operated a tap with his toes. The concoction of salts and lotions he had toyed with in childish excitement had turned the water a curious bronze colour that sparkled with red and gold flecks beneath the layer of froth. Letting the warmth soothe away the pains of his lifetime of running from and scraping out of danger, he breathed in the mingling scents his extraordinary mind could only be bothered to describe as 'clean'.

Thoughts drifting, he wondered if Rory had managed to find enjoyment after all. He wasn't going to wonder too hard, though. That would have meant thinking about what a young human might imagine when shut away in a room of possible pleasures; all those wibbly wobbly hormones and unbidden flashes of temptation. It would probably have meant thinking about Amy, newly married Amy, Mrs Williams, the little girl who'd turned into a not so little girl and looked at him with those eyes and worn those very short skirts and tried to kiss – no, no, bad thinking. She was just Pond, always had been Pond, nothing there to see, especially now she was a mother and now his _mother… in … law…_ ohhh time travel, why did it have to be so _complicated?_

The Doctor made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and became very interested in the assortment of bath-time accessories that could be found sitting in what looked like gumball machines beside the tub. He pressed a button and cupped his hand below the receptacle, catching a pale green orb the size of an orange. His disturbing musings melted away with his wonder.

"A Gallifreyan bath bomb!"

Cradling the sphere as though it were terribly precious, he gazed at it for a full minute before daring to let it drop into the water. Froth exploded in all directions, the floor and walls spattered in technicolour. "Ha, _ha!_" the timelord whooped. He grinned, awestruck at the cloud of energy that rose above the surface. Hovering in a bubble of its own, scenes of spiralling supernovas and dancing firebirds played in cinema before his eyes. The patterns of steam danced for a few brilliant seconds before falling as dust.

The Doctor smiled, moved to the onset of tears. He brushed away the beard of foam he had accumulated and paused, arm beneath his chin. In the corner of his eye he had seen something move, something larger than bubbles sliding down the bathroom wall. He turned, ducking down in a trench of crackling froth, scanning the room for anything untoward.

Nothing.

Frowning, he surfaced again. He was on the verge of chiding himself for distrust when the lights went out. "That is extremely, very not good," he whispered to the darkness. He submerged but for one of his arms, which immediately went questing for his screwdriver. Fingers poking the item on the free-standing rack to be certain it wasn't a razor or indeed another toothbrush, The Doctor seized hold of his sonic and aimed it at the ceiling. The light sputtered back into action. He popped up again, hands gripping the side of the tub.

"Oh."

There were girls standing all around him, all pale with dark hair, darkly-rimmed eyes and long white dresses. They wore cruel smiles, lips pinched shut, though he knew what lay behind them.

"Hello," he said. The beautiful, sinister women did not respond. "I don't suppose one of you would pass me a towel?" They said nothing, but started to edge forward. "Didn't think so." Holding his screwdriver between his teeth, The Doctor flailed out with both arms and snatched up the slightly soggy towel he had left beside the tub. Eyes darting warily to each of the women, he found his feet and hastily wound the towel about his waist.

"Where are you going, señor? " the girls chorused.

His reply was to fling a flannel to the tiles. Following a risky jump, the timelord planted his feet on the dropped cloth and went hurtling across the room on a trail of slippery foam. Yelling all the way, though somewhat muffled by the sonic in his mouth, he miraculously avoided their grasp and stumbled into the hall. He spun to face the room, backing off in desperate panic. One hand secured his towel while the other brought his screwdriver to point at the entrance.

"I just came here for a nice, quiet moment to relax!" he complained. "Is that really so much to ask?"

The pale women appeared in the doorframe, filing out to allow their sisters a viewpoint. "We can help you relax, señor," they purred in unison.

"Oh yeah, I bet you can." He swallowed and waved his sonic as an ineffectual threat. "Look. Tell you what, why don't we all play a game? Yeah? Games, you know what a game is? Love games. A brilliant game, you'll like this one. It's called 'Let's Find The Doctor's Clothes'. Rules are simple. You just go back in there and fetch my clothes. Easy. Give you a clue, there's a bowtie involved." He winced at their inaction. "No? Not interested, then. Right. Um, how about… whoever goes and gets The Doctor's clothes gets to… go in the swimming pool? Yeah? You'd like that, lots more water, Saturnyns…" Bare feet synchronised in pacing toward him. "Look, it's no fun if I have to get them myself. I don't need a swim. I'll go all crinkly." His pleas went unheard. Dread trickled over his skin with the undried droplets of bathwater as he realised he had left the Tinter controls in the sink.

Hissing in a breath of self-encouragement, The Doctor ran straight at them, eyes on the doorway. For every hand that grabbed for him, he jabbed the sonic in their direction and disrupted their signal. He fled into the bathroom, nimbly avoiding the treacherous patches of melting bubbles, and seized upon his pile of clothes. Scooping them in one arm, he piled the Tinter equipment on top and dodged the reforming simulation particles. Off the half-naked timelord ran, zapping vampires down the length of the hall.

Once again the announcement rang throughout his suite: _PLEASE REFRAIN FROM TAMPERING WITH THE SIMULATIONS. IF YOU REQUIRE ASSISTANCE, PLEASE USE YOUR TROUBLESHOOTING GUIDE PROVIDED. ENJOY YOUR STAY._

"_I_ am _not_ tampering with your simulations!" The Doctor bellowed. "Your simulations are tampering with _me!_"

With a dismayed yelp, he reached the entrance to the suite, buzzed it open with his screwdriver and dove out into the waiting area. He landed in an undignified heap, to the surprise of several onlookers. Having made certain the door to his suite was secured, he stood up within a tangle of his clothes and stared awkwardly back at his audience, hair frazzled and dripping. After an instant of catching his towel before it could slip, his open mouth formed words.

"There was a fish..."


	4. Chapter 4

"Rory! Don't panic! Everything's going to be fine. Just hold on. It's The Doctor! I'm here to help!" Having scrambled back into his clothes in the lobby's restroom, The Doctor came bursting back into his friend's suite, yelling gallantly. "Rory?" He dashed past each open door, only allowing himself to observe enough to confirm the human's absence, though a few flashes of places they had travelled managed to slip into his memory – the Velvet Fields of Sleff, the honeymoon planet near the Horsehead Nebula, Rengata's Onyx Caverns, even Upper Leadworth. No sign of Rory, yet, however. The Doctor hurried on, waving his sonic like a frantic wizard.

Music reached his ears from further ahead. It was loud with a great deal of guitar and beatings of drums, a human half-singing, half-shouting unclear words above the riff. The old man in The Doctor cringed at the racket, but the spark of youth in him might have enjoyed it given the chance. The noise only meant one thing at present: Rory. Arriving at the source, The Doctor found the door locked. Without a moment's thought, he zapped the lock and seized the doorknob, flinging through into the room.

"It's okay, Rory! You're safe…now…" The Doctor trailed off under the weight of several icy stares.

It could have been worse, but it wasn't a time for such reflection. Rory sat, sullen-faced, on a chaise longue, adorned in his centurion costume bar the helmet. A young woman with short red curls had her arms about his neck, one porcelain-smooth leg draped across his lap. Her alarmingly short toga shifted mercifully to greater concealment as she turned to The Doctor. Amy's face glowered. It glowered from there and from the marble floor where an Amy in a nurse's uniform had been reading a magazine and chewing bubble-gum. It glowered from another chair across the palace-designed room where a pirate with long ginger hair had been inspecting her nails, and it glowered from a doorway off to the left, eyes narrowing above stripes of war paint.

"Perhaps I should've knocked." The Doctor moved his jaw in an uncomfortable fashion. It was surprising how Rory did not blush or go particularly pale. The man simply seemed to go numb in times of stress and all emotion focused in his eyes. The word 'plastic' echoed in The Doctor's mind.

"Should I be annoyed on account of embarrassment or because you're a simulation that's gone wrong?" The young human's tone could have cut steel. It had certainly managed to cut the music.

"Yes and no, but partly yes. The simulations _have _gone wrong – at least they were wrong in my room so I had to make sure you weren't facing any unwanted, er, attention." The Doctor was acutely aware that the Amys were still watching him. Pirate Amy had climbed over the arm of her chair and begun prowling closer. The Amy at the adjoining doorway was sidling in his direction, garments of leaves rustling at each step.

Rory frowned. "What do you mean 'they've gone wrong'?"

The Doctor considered a proper explanation and discarded it. "Nothing. Clearly it's just my room and nothing untoward or unexpected or unpleasant is going on in here. I'll just stop babbling and leave you to, er, yes, stop disturbing you." He backed off as the leaf-garbed Amy revealed a flint knife in hand.

"It's all right, Jungle Amy, leave him," Rory commanded.

The war-painted girl gave The Doctor one last weighted glance before she retreated, padding silently to stand behind the chaise longue.

'_Jungle Amy?_' The Doctor repeated soundlessly, incredulous after the initial shock.

"Who is he?" the Amy beside Rory asked. Her expression was guarded.

Rory rubbed at his eyelids to avoid having to look at the timelord's face. "That's…that's The Doctor. He's a friend and also probably my son-in-law, but not really, I don't know. You know him anyway, well, not you, the real you, and… I'm talking to computer sprites of my wife. This is more than weird."

"Ohhh The _Doctor_," Pirate Amy replied, brightening. "How did we forget?"

"I'll be going now," The Doctor said quietly. "Sorry."

"Why don't you join us?" Roman Amy offered.

"What? No!" Rory's voice marginally succeeded in drowning out The Doctor's identical response.

Pirate Amy smirked. "Oh, you boys, where's your sense of fun?"

Now Rory looked horrified. "Please, _please_, believe me when I say this is not coming from my head."

The Doctor nodded, edging back the way he had come. "And you're quite sure none of these are the _real _Amy?" The threat in Rory's expression spurred him to resume, "No, silly suggestion. Don't know where that came from. Why of all things would the real Amy think about anything like this?" He stepped back into the hall. "I'll just…go. Hopefully the programme will go back to…whatever. See you, er, later, then." The Doctor gave Rory a hasty double- thumbs-up and power-walked for the exit.

"Where do you think you're going, buster?"

Amy barred the passageway, arms folded, dressed in her policewoman/kiss-o-gram outfit.

"Oh," said The Doctor. "Right. No, you see, this isn't my room. _He's _the one you want." He pointed back to the Roman boudoir.

The simulation raised her eyebrow. "Are you telling me how to do my job?"

"No, well, a little bit, yes. You're supposed to be Rory's wife and it's really not my place to be here so if you'll just let me pass -."

"I don't think so. You've caused more than enough trouble and you think I'll let you get away now? That man has _died _because of you and more than once. Did you think I'd let you leave with the things you've let happen to the man I love?"

"Listen, you're not Amy, you're a projection, and I'm sorry, but since you're not moving, I'm going to have to prove it." She moved faster than he anticipated. No sooner had he raised his sonic it was smacked from his hand and she had slammed him into the wall.

"Amy, listen to me!" he yelped, cringing at the jolt to his spine.

"No, you listen, Doctor. Always telling us what to do. How are we supposed to know if what you say is right, if it's true, if it'll keep us safe? No. You can shut up and listen." Her voice had begun to soften. Her hands moved from where they gripped his jacket to pinch the collar of his shirt. "Just relax, Doctor," she whispered. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Nurse Amy approaching, a syringe held aloft. Clear liquid spouted from its tip.

"Rooooryyyyyyyyyyy!" The Doctor's bloodcurdling yell brought the centurion pelting out into the hall. His jaw dropped. "Call them off!" the trapped timelord blurted.

Rory leapt forward and seized Nurse Amy in the act of trying to bare The Doctor's arm. She resisted very little and was easily deposited in the Roman room. Kiss-o-gram Amy needed somewhat more force before she would let go of The Doctor's shirt. She pouted and blew him a kiss. A second later, Rory slammed the door shut and it was sonicked for good measure.

"We need to find out what's happening." The Doctor gasped for breath from the struggle. "I've never – this isn't how they work. It's carefully controlled. Never dangerous. Something's wrong."

Rory sighed. "Let's just go. We'll go somewhere else, somewhere less…alien, just go back to the TARDIS and pick up a few drinks from home, talk about things that aren't…this."

"No!" The Doctor snapped. "No, no, no! I'm not giving up. Not yet anyway. This is a brilliant place and Rory Williams is going to have a stag party worthy of the history books." He paused. "The nice ones that everyone wishes they'd been to, not the other kinds involving bloodbaths, _actual _blood baths, or questionable galactic records." He straightened his shirt, checked his bowtie and ran a hand through his damp hair. "Off we go then."

"Er, Doctor…I might need my clothes."

"Nonsense. Roman centurion? No one'll bat an eye in this place. You can fetch them later. Go and get changed in the TARDIS if you must. I've got a job for you anyway." Not waiting for a further reply, The Doctor strode for the lobby.

* * *

><p>The Roman centurion marched quickly across the lawns of Hedonis 4, a key in one hand, a wad of psychic paper in the other. He wished he had been strong enough to persuade The Doctor to let the problem lie, that they could leave the saving and the mistakes for someone else to clear up. He wanted to go home to his new wife, or at the very least be travelling with her. Because The Doctor was hers, really, <em>her <em>imaginary friend made flesh, always had been flesh, which was perturbing in more ways than he cared to admit. Being alone with The Doctor felt like being a story in Amy's head, as though Rory Williams weren't quite real, running around in a dream that some beautiful Scottish girl had created. Without Amy, Rory sometimes had trouble believing he was real. Maybe that was a side-effect of being written in and out of a universe.

Yet, in spite of all that, he did not want to run back to her so soon. How could he return knowing he had not allowed himself to have fun? What this planet offered did make him feel guilty, but he could not bear the thought of Amy finding out that he had not let The Doctor make amends. Rory did not want to be 'Amy's serious husband', laughing less each day until he might never see that smile on her face again. It was something he feared, becoming boring Rory, stick-in-the-mud spoil-sport Rory, Rory who could never make her as happy as The Doctor…

No. He would stay. He would stay and help The Doctor, for her.

Arriving at the TARDIS, Rory pushed the key into the lock and let himself in. What was it The Doctor had asked him to look for? Off down the tunnel to the left of the typewriter, into the cloakroom, large black chest… he followed the directions and pushed past a few coat-rails. After tripping over an exceptionally long scarf, wondering if it had been knitted by a very old Gallifreyan grandma, he found the chest The Doctor had described. It took him more than ten minutes to find the 'thing that looks like a Frisbee but isn't a Frisbee so don't go lobbing it around like it _is _a Frisbee or I'll be very cross', due to the sheer quantity of intergalactic junk the timelord had stashed within. Many of the strange items made noises or started blinking flashing colours when his hand roamed near them. Rory hoped they were toys. He didn't really think The Doctor would have put some dormant alien bomb in amongst his clothing, but only because he knew how much the timelord loved his hats.

When at last the device had been found, Rory the Roman found some rather deRomanized clothes of his own: a casual shirt and jeans, and headed for the control room. As he walked, an eerily familiar noise reached his ears. It pulsed, like the sound of a zip drawn back and forth, mixed with a diving plane, or a whisk sliding over a chopping board. Amy had tried to explain how The Doctor had mimicked it, but whether he had sounded like a hippopotamus in reverse he had yet to confirm. With a sudden panic, Rory bolted onto the main deck.

"No! Stop! What are you doing?" he yelled at the TARDIS console. "You can't leave!" He could hear the noise all around, but the TARDIS did not shudder or flash, her levers stayed still and her dials did not turn. Confused, Rory ran to the door and braced himself for what he might see. He stepped out, his trainers planting on grass, and blinked at the same planet he had left. The TARDIS had not dematerialised. "Okay, that's… I must be overdoing it." He pulled the door closed and made sure it had locked.

"What?"

The voice came from his left but it hardly registered. Rory was too busy concentrating on making sure his key was safe.

"Excuse me… _what_?" Louder this time, Rory jumped and turned to see a man looking at him. There was a frown about the stranger's face, confused for the most part, but with a generous helping of anger. It was a thin face with a slightly sharp nose and ruffled, spiky hair. He wore a pin-striped suit beneath a long camel-brown coat.

"Er, can I help yo-?" Rory only had an instant to register the presence of a second blue police box beside The Doctor's TARDIS, before a fist connected with his face.

* * *

><p>"You're asking <em>me <em>for identification? _Me_? Have you any idea who I am? I'm over a thousand years old!"

The Tephalisk bartender turned away from the timelord throwing a hissy fit at the counter. It was not policy to be sympathetic. Humans that looked under twenty-five could not be served, and this customer looked very much human and doubtfully quite the age of consent. Old but terribly youthful hands clutched at his hair as The Doctor hunched over the bar-top in frustration. The psychic paper had been left in Rory's care to allow him back into the complex, but even if he _had_ kept it, it was doubtful that he would fool a Tephalisk. These creatures were experts in dealing with illusions. They had to be, working in a place such as this. Every employee on Hedonis 4 would have had training in mental blocking for their own safety.

The Doctor had demanded to speak to someone in charge and explained, in as much detail as he dared, the problems he had experienced. He went from clerk to consultant, to sector managers and programmers, all understanding and perfectly friendly but adamant that he was not to be shown the way to the complex's mainframes. They assured him the issues would be dealt with, uploaded three more spa coupons and a ticket to see an interactive show at a place called _The Suspense Box_, and told him to await their results in the Quark & Banana bar. He had only agreed to back down when a young Tephalisk by the name of Kaemu said she would investigate personally. With her assurance that she would get back to him before nightfall, The Doctor had left a note for Rory with the lobby desk and taken a seat in the bar.

It was a bit too neon for his taste. The Quark & Banana had strips of coloured light embedded in every table-top, chair leg and wall-light. Even the floor gleamed with blue stars under plastic flooring. The Doctor was fond of brightness and playful tones, but the lack of items to grab, the steely emptiness between the lights, slipped his interest. This place didn't even have curly straws.

And now he couldn't even order anything. Jacket discarded on the stool beside him, the timelord slammed his palm on the counter. "If you won't serve me, I'm going to speak to your manager, and they'll know who I am! Why don't you save yourself the embarrassment and let me help pay your wages before you risk not having any _ever again_!"

The Tephalisk appeared to shoot him a look and gave a loud hiss.

"Oh, _khhhhhhhhk _to you too, sunshine. Don't think I don't know another few words to go with that. Let's see now… oh ye- _aghhhhh!_" The Doctor cried out as something wrenched his arm back. Face wrinkling with pain, he looked up into the stern glare of a huge, muscular Tephalisk wearing the dark red shoulder-plates of Security. "I'm sorry!" The Doctor yelped. "My mistake! It's been a long day, I overreacted. Really, I'm sorry. You can let go now." He cringed as his face was pressed to the cold surface of the counter. "I only wanted a packet of crisps…"

Perhaps he was dreaming. A voice, one that he couldn't possibly mistake, called across the room in bold American English.

"Hey, let him go. He's with me."


	5. Chapter 5

Far beneath the pleasure complex in rooms teeming with workers and humming computers, Kaemu scurried past clusters of bleeping workstations, eyes flicking from screens to the data-pad in her claws. She was a sleek build of Tephalisk, her scales silvery and pearlescent with youth, but her beauty rarely proved a distraction to her colleagues. The Tephalisks were skilled at hormone control, which made them ideal employees for a job that dealt in wants.

"I have a data request," she enquired of one of the clerks. He paused in keying in a series of symbols and gave her his attention.

"Yes?"

"Transfer readings from the programmes running in chambers Lamda Three and Four to my station. There have been troubles reported."

"Certainly." The clerk turned back to his desk and set to the task.

Kaemu clicked her tongue in thanks and made her way to her own workstation, tail swishing impatiently as she waited for the information to arrive. Once it was available, she worked, claws peppering the controls. She studied numbers, charts and simulation maps, comparing the results with other programmes, her spines prickling with exasperation as to the cause. Whilst she set one screen analysing, she turned to another and accessed the client database. She typed in 'The Doctor'.

It all went wrong from there. One moment the monitor flashed up with 'CLASSIFIED – CLEARANCE REQUIRED' and then she found she could not search for the client at all. Kaemu checked the programme analysis again and hissed in surprise. The symbols on the faulty data were now identical to the basic structure of the simulation templates. The strange formulae she had seen had been erased. Kaemu scanned her data-pad and found proof that she was not mistaken. Whatever had corrupted the mainframe had not found the copy she had moved to her pad.

Quickly, the young Tephalisk left her desk and sought out the office of the Chief of Simulated Entertainment Services. Thanks to her genetics she was capable of keeping her nerves at bay, despite having never before approached the Chief directly. She entered her employee code into the panel at the Chief's door. It bleeped acceptance for her to enter.

The Chief of SES sat in the centre of a ring of computer stations, monitors arrayed at varying heights all around him. Further controls were attached to a pair of metal bracers on his arms and he wore a tech's headset and visor. He was a bulky Tephalisk with longer upper teeth than most, giving him a boar-like appearance. A monitor descended, allowing him a better view of his visitor.

"Can I be of help? Kaemu…yes?"

Kaemu nodded. "Chief, there is a problem with a customer's experience. I have tried to resolve it but there is a glitch in the system."

"A glitch?"

"I think so, Chief. I found inconsistencies between the client's programme and the standard, but when I looked again, the data was gone. I have isolated the anomaly on my pad."

The Chief began to type at one of his stations, keeping his attention to Kaemu as courteously as possible. "Is the client harmed?"

"No, Chief, but unhappy and seeking solutions."

"That is good. Which simulation suite was affected?"

"Chamber Lamda Four, Chief, but further problems arose when the client visited the suite adjacent – Three, sir."

He resumed typing, pressed a few buttons on a screen and clicked his tongue thoughtfully. "There have been reports of prohibited technology used in these rooms."

"Yes, Chief. The client informs me the Projectrons malfunctioned before needing to resort to personal equipment. My readings here show this is true. Something has reprogrammed them."

"Let me see." He reached out for Kaemu's data-pad. She passed it across. Again, he continued to type. Kaemu waited with outward patience, inwardly with desperate curiosity. The Chief gave a sigh and pressed another key with a claw-tip.

Kaemu started as a wall slid aside across the room to reveal a figure in a red cloak. Black gloved hands clutched a tall halberd. Black boots began to march toward her. Fighting to keep her wits, Kaemu looked to the Chief. "What is that?"

The Chief did not answer.

Kaemu backed off for the door. "Chief? Please, if I have made error, I am sorry. I will recheck my figures, I'll give the client apologies."

Still the cloaked figure advanced. Kaemu turned and hammered her access code into the door panel. A defiant bleep of rejection gave its reply. She spun to face the figure. It loomed above her, tall, with a hint of something golden inside the hood.

"The cause will be preserved," it boomed. The voice was not Tephalisk. "In Her name." It swung the halberd.

Kaemu shrieked.

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry…"<p>

Rory groaned and looked up at the man crouching over him. He didn't want to bring his hand away from his nose in case it was bleeding. "You just…hit me. Why would y-? Who -?"

The man appeared genuinely concerned, no longer a bristling entity of anger. "I really am very sorry. I wasn't thinking clearly. Normally I can tell, I'd know in an instant, but I saw you stepping out and the probability that you weren't -." He broke off. "Sorry," he said again and offered a helping hand.

Perplexed, Rory accepted and got to his feet. No sooner was he upright, his gaze rested upon the second police box once more. "You, er, you have a TARDIS. That's … weird."

"Is it?" The man in the longcoat gurned at his box as if trying to find evidence of weirdness.

"Well, aren't they only used by timelords?"

"Pretty much, though there have been attempts to copy a TT capsule. Not half so brilliant, mind you."

"But wouldn't that make you a timelord?" Rory blurted.

"I s'pose it would."

"But you can't be. The Doctor was the only one left. They all died."

The stranger looked at Rory with an expression that seemed to come from a thousand light years away. "I know."

Lost for words, Rory stood in silence, eye contact flitting between the man in the suit and the grass underfoot, fingers fidgeting with the TARDIS key.

"It's true," the man added. "There is only one timelord remaining." His attention was drawn to the TARDIS that was deeper blue, now with the seal of St John's Ambulance on its right-hand door. "What's your name?"

"Rory."

The stranger gave a bright smile and looked to him again. "Rory! Great name. Hello, Rory. I'm The Doctor!"

"Um... no, I'm pretty sure you're not. You don't look like The Doctor."

"No I probably won't, not to you. Different point in the timeline, different face. Ooh, am I ginger yet?"

"Wait, hold on." Rory put up his hands to slow the conversation. "You're _The Doctor_?" Memories slotted into place of Melody, his daughter, shot by Hitler - very strange day - and she glowed, changed, and she was River. "Regeneration. You can change your face. I remember. Doesn't make any sense but I've seen it before and since when does anything with you make sense anyway. So, you used to look like that?"

"Still do for me," The Doctor-10 grinned. "So you're my companion in the future, eh? Wow. And I brought you here?" He raised an eyebrow then made a slight frown. "Am I a girl?"

"No. Is that – can that happen?"

"I dunno! I've heard stories." The Doctor-10 stroked the new TARDIS's paintwork. "Let's 'ave a look at you." He pulled out a key and tried to open the door out of habit. "Oops, yes, changed the locks."

"I have the key right he-."

"No need, I can just do -," The Doctor snapped his fingers and one door opened, "-this!" Beaming, The Doctor-10 bounded into the TARDIS. At a loss for what else to do, Rory followed.

"Blimey," said The Doctor-10. "It's…it's…"

"Bigger on the inside?" Rory suggested with a liberal topping of sarcasm.

"Oi, less of that. It's…" The timelord scrambled for words. "Like…IKEA and Toys R Us got put in a blender." He turned his surprised face to the human. "Do I travel a lot with… people like you?"

"What do you mean 'people like me'?" Suspicion clung to Rory's tone.

"Well, I mean, you know, young men as opposed to, say, um, human females… not that that's a problem. Open to almost anything, me."

"What? No! It's – no it's not like that. The Doctor – you – brought me here as a sort of… stag-do… thing. Normally Amy's here, too."

The Doctor-10 was delighted. "Ohhh a couple! That brings me back. When's the big day?"

"Sort of a year ago, bit more, centuries ago from this perspective and, er, about two hundred years ago for The Doctor, our Doctor. Things got a bit delayed." Rory's nose twinged, spurring him to change the subject. "What are you doing here?"

"Me? Oh, I was summoned. Got a message."

"And that message made you want to punch yourself, your future self, in the face?"

"Just a bit."

"I'll take you to him then, shall I?"

The Doctor-10 gave his future ship a lingering look before nodding. "All right then. Let's go and meet me." He gestured for Rory to lead the way. "Allons-y!"

* * *

><p>"Hi." Charisma practically blasted out of the face of the man with the dazzling smile. With the bar's security staff abated, he took up the stool beside the youthful-seeming troublemaker, the tails of his 1940's greatcoat splaying with practised expertise. "Good thing I happened by. Few more seconds and you'd've been a smear on the counter." His blue eyes locked to the face of his rescuee, still able to take in the whole picture to enjoy. He sensed discomfort but was not yet discouraged. "So what are you?" he asked playfully. "Lookin' good for a thousand years old. Even I'm jealous. So I'm thinkin' some kinda shapeshifter? Cyborg? Royalty with access to suspension of the biological clock?" He smirked. "Bowtie though? Not any royalty I've ever heard of."<p>

The young man managed to meet his gaze. "Is this what's going to happen every time? Tell me I don't need to start wearing a sign." He sighed. "How do I solve a problem like you, Jack? No to what you're thinking, no to what you were thinking five minutes ago and one big 'Stop It' for good measure."

Captain Jack Harkness's expression wavered. Disbelief shone through.

"Hello, Jack," The Doctor-11 said with a smile as old as his eyes. "It's me."

Jack reined in a gasp; prevented a choke. "Doctor?" He paused a few seconds to collect himself in front of the man who made emotion control the most difficult. "You did it again, didn't you? How-? No, I don't wanna know." He tried to hold back the questions that did not want to form an orderly queue. " A thousand years old…"

"Eleven hundred and three, or thereabouts."

Jack laughed, but the wave of grief and joy returned. "Then how many faces since -?"

"Just this one. Took a bit of a break, got lucky."

"Did it hurt? I mean, was it clean? Fast?"

"Yes," The Doctor-11 lied, or ignored the last two questions, either way.

The positive side of Harkness sprang back, his enormous grin resumed. "Wow. Look at you, so new, and that _face_. I think someone really took it to heart, sorry, _hearts_, when they got forced to age by a genocidal psycho. Did you mean to go for busboy meets college student?"

"Oi, don't diss the look. I like it."

Jack snorted. "But it's so dorky! And your nose!"

"What's wrong with my nose?"

"It used to have a point."

"Don't get me started on points, Mr _Fixed_." The Doctor-11 sneered.

"Ouch." Captain Jack smiled nostalgically at the man who was his idol, his inspiration. "Nice choice on the braces."

"Thanks."

They sat in silence for a few moments.

"Buy you a drink?" Jack offered.

"Tap water."

Jack gave another smirk. "Okay."

"And a packet of Space Raiders."


	6. Chapter 6

The silence was not a comfortable one, a silence made worse by 40th century hyperjazz punctuating the absence of speech. Having tried to distract himself from Jack's unsubtle gaze, The Doctor-11 reached his limit halfway through his packet of crisps. Scrunching up the bag, he slapped it on the bar top and turned to the ex-time agent with a shrewd expression.

"Pack that in before your eyes drop out."

Jack sniffed a laugh. "Did you wake up on the wrong side of the time vortex or is this you always this way?"

"It's been a long day. I try to take just one more time out to relax but there's always something. The helpful people aren't being very helpful, the relaxation hasn't been relaxing, my plan to make a friend happy has _not _gone according to plan… and now I'm being -," the timelord fumbled for a word,"_ ogled_ by a complicated spacetime event."

"Can't help it. Sitting here with you, it's like when you bump into someone at a party and they say 'Hey', and you go 'Hi', and you haven't a clue who they are. Only more disconcerting."

"Have you ever known who I am, Jack?"

"All right, you got me. Still, it'll take some getting used to."

The Doctor-11 rested an elbow on the counter and clasped his hands. He searched Harkness's expression, keeping his own just as enigmatic. "Why so different now? Last time I changed you hardly batted an eye. I could've been anyone stepping out of the TARDIS at the end of the universe." He lowered his voice. "I could've been Martha."

"Likeliness of that aside, _she_ wasn't standing there all casual while I was dead. Anyway, I had other reasons. You made yourself pretty popular with that face. Wasn't hard to match up snapshots from bystanders , news reports, YouTube – add to that a reconstruction made from analysing your spare hand, well, I had a lot more to go on. After Zaggit Zagoo, all I've had are whispers and stories, and I never knew which version of you anyone was talkin' about. Didn't wanna mess anything else up, so I let it wash over me. There was something – two, I don't know… _blips_ I noticed over the last year. Every starliner or planet I wandered, no one else seemed to have seen it, but it was like a hiccup. Machines blinked for maybe a fraction of a second, life was silent for just a little too long, and after each one of these moments I remembered things that hadn't been in my memory before. It has to be the time travelling or I wouldn't know about it. These blips – one on the 26th of April 2010, Earth time, and again on the 22nd of the same month the next year. I know out of anyone, you'd be the one to know about it."

"Consider the universe as the most intricate computer programme possible. Sometimes it might get a bug or a glitch, doesn't run as it should. Those two dates were, shall we say, 'fixes', new uploads to iron out the kinks."

"You made a _patch_ for the universe?"

"No. That's the 'Universe For Dummies' edition. Thought it'd suffice for you."

"You're still just as cheeky. Snide, even. Can't say it's an improvement. What's this about making someone happy? Who'd you bring to this place? Should I be jealous?" Jack gave another grin and gulped at his tumbler of lejkip – a grey liquor made from some prickly native fruit.

Whatever reply The Doctor-11 was preparing dissipated in the instant the timelord looked at the reflection in the bar's mirror. With a speed that surprised even himself he leapt off his stool and dashed through the nearest doorway. Jack turned and nearly spat out his drink.

"It's you!"

Shining with joy, his gaze fell upon the flustered face of The Doctor's tenth incarnation, the one he had come to adore the most. As usual the timelord did not seem particularly excited to see him, but Jack would take what he could get. The Doctor-10 glanced sharply around the bar, coming to a stop in front of him.

"They said this was where he'd be," said a young man in 21st century clothes who was accompanying him. "The Quark & Banana."

The Doctor-10 noted the tweed jacket abandoned on the stool next to Jack, cast an eye over the half-eaten packet of crisps. Not about to be side-tracked, he snapped at the ex-time agent. "Where is he?"

Jack remained calm, reaching casually for his tumbler again. "I thought you couldn't be in two places at the same time. Isn't that against your rules?"

"_Jack!_"

After a leisurely swallow, Jack indicated the door opposite him. "He's hiding in the bathroom."

Without a word, The Doctor-10 stalked for the gentlemen's toilets. When Rory followed, he paused with his hand on the door. "You stay here. This is between me and…me." The young human seemed reluctant but a hard stare was all it took to convince him to join Jack at the bar. The Doctor-10 turned and pushed through.

Nothing and everything would have made Jack want to get up and follow the Doctors. Instead, he offered his hand to the confused youth. "Captain Jack Harkness. Buy you a drink?"

Rory slumped onto a stool. "God, yes."

* * *

><p>"Knock, knock." Red and white converse paced the grey vinyl outside the row of silent cubicles. The Doctor-10 began to shoe open each door as he passed. "Can I get a 'who's there'? Oh I s'pose not. You already know. Silly old you. Stop all this stupidity and come out." Everything remained still. "I know you're here. I can feel it. Although, I <em>am<em> impressed at how long you can hold your breath, because _you…are...silent_. Starting to feel a bit blue in the face yet, are we? Not tempted to just let in the tiniest bit of that lovely oxygen? Must be absolute torture. I'd imagine it, only I don't even know what you look like. From the look of the jacket out there I'd say you went for an older image, but…nyehhh… crisps? See, crisps get all sharp and stick you in the gums when you get old and you end up wanting to put them in a bowl so you can pick at them more carefully, and _blimey_ you're _still_ going. I'll run out of doors before you pass out."

The response came at last, straight after a restrained wheeze. "You… shouldn't be here."

"Is that right?" The Doctor-10 sprang cat-like to one of the cubicles and gently pressed his fingertips to the door. It didn't budge. "Then maybe you shouldn't have sent me your message."

"What message?"

"You know what message."

"No I bloody well don't."

"Oi, language! All I've heard of this me so far is filthy. Come on out. There's a nice soap dispenser for your mouth out here." Seeing that the silence was taking hold once again, The Doctor-10 glared at the locked toilet. "Look, this is just silly. Seeing each other isn't going to make the universe explode any more than hearing each other."

"'Ow do you know? I've already 'ad to repair it once. I don't fancy breaking it again."

The Doctor-10 bared his teeth and smacked the cubicle with his fist. "Open the door!"

A moment of sullen quietness passed. There came a video-game bleep as the 40th century cubicle unlocked and peeled inward without so much as a squeak. Jaw clenched, The Doctor-11 stepped out and faced his last self. His aggressive posture seemed to make up for the few inches in height difference. The Doctor-10 arched his eyebrows, his anger fading with the distraction of the other man's appearance.

"But you're-."

"Yeah?"

"You're -."

"What?"

The Doctor-10 pointed. "You're that man in the _Flying Deuces_! I mean, I knew good ol' Laurel and Hardy didn't always have an idiot in a fez waving in the foreground - can spot a time alteration a mile off, me - but all this time it was _you_?"

"Me. You. You should've been able to tell."

"Telly doesn't work with instinct. Anyway -." The Doctor-10's expression softened and he smiled. "Look at you. Look at the little bowtie! We went back to that style, did we? I would say it's awful, and, well, it _is_ awful, but I do remember how much we liked it back then. Bless our rebel socks. But the braces, and the hair! Iffy on the chin, but you're so… so… _young_." The skinnier timelord's face fell from his initial joy to a disappointed pout. "You're _too_ young."

The Doctor-11 scowled. "Oi, I'm not so young I can't kick you back into your old box and pack you off to your proper timeline."

A giggle escaped The Doctor-10's lips. "Sorry. Am I always that adorable when I'm angry? I've half a mind to drop you off at the nearest playgroup with a bag of jelly babies, but only if you behave. Oh, see now this is unfair. I… I just don't know if I can do it. Not with you looking like that."

"Do what?" The Doctor-11 hissed.

"Reply to your message."

"I didn't _send_ you any message!"

"Well maybe you did in the future, in which case, I'm even sorrier. So, so, sorry, but you know me and my pride."

"Sorry for wh-?" The Doctor-11 started but broke off just in time to duck a punch to the face. Before his other self could recover, he shoved The Doctor-10 backward and made a break for the exit.

Barely had his hand touched the door when the older man, but younger Doctor, launched across the room and tackled him out into the bar.


	7. Chapter 7

From the security of the SES office, the Chief and his leading tech watched the scene in the Quark and Banana playing out on one of the surrounding monitors. The technician tapped his claws on the desk, his retracted visor revealing restless obsidian eyes.

"I would question this, Irriden, if that were wise. Whatever our friends are planning, do you think they can contend with two children of Gallifrey? Our scans show they are both timelord, genetics so identical I would suggest they fooled the systems…"

"Our systems are not fooled," the Chief stated.

"That was my conclusion, yes."

"There is only one timelord on Hedonis 4. They are both the same creature from different points in time."

The tech hissed and took a step back from the monitor, as if fearing it might explode. "This is foolishness. Would they destroy us all?"

"Remember your wisdom, Dhoraen. It has been expected. Those that give the orders know what they are doing and we must follow. Without them there is no system, no planetary deed and no livelihood. Obedience is owed and mandatory."

Dhoraen swished his tail with reluctance but bowed his head. "Yes, Chief. What, then, is to be done with The Doctor?"

"They will be brought back into the complex. Once lured, they will be kept there until further instruction. In the meantime, their ships will be taken into the custody of our higher authority."

"And the humans? The Doctor appears familiar with them both."

"Introduce them to the sub-programme. No reason to leave them out."

"Very good." Dhoraen vacated the circle of monitors and moved for the door. His glistening eyes flicked back to his employer. "I would question the need for these…games."

Chief Irriden shook his head warningly. "It is not wise."

Dhoraen grinned with needle-sharp teeth. "I think perhaps I have stumbled across the point." With one last nod of respect, he left Irriden to his station. The Chief continued to watch the drama of the screens, unable to prevent the occasional glance to the menacingly silent wall that made the room smaller than it truly was.

* * *

><p>"Seriously, will you two just... stop… fighting?" Rory called helplessly above the clattering in the bar. "Because… if it doesn't rip more holes in time and space… my headache's getting worse."<p>

"That'll be the megabeer you drank," Jack piped up, still seated. "Least that's what I call it. Can't pronounce the name with a human tongue."

"Gahhh!" The Doctor-11 yelled as he was slammed onto a table-top, neon lights flickering under the impact. "This… is… _stupid_!" He wrested his younger self's hands away from their quest for his throat and hissed over a split lip. "I don't remember having this short a fuse when I was you. I really _do_ hate myself. Just… let… go!"

"Not until you apologise!" The Doctor-10 demanded, his face made more savage by the bloody nose he had received moments earlier.

"I think you've done enough apologising for the both of us!" With a grunt of effort, The Doctor-11 kicked The Doctor-10 into the table behind and sprang upright. "Stop. Think. This isn't how we do things. We talk things through. We don't resort to violence."

The Doctor-10 scoffed. "Did you mean to give this speech before or after the fist to my face?"

"We're talking now."

"I don't feel much like listening."

"Obviously." The Doctor-11 ground his teeth, watching for any sudden moves. "Aside from the fact I still have no idea what I've said to incense you, I know you're better than this."

"Well _I_ think you're embarrassed to be beaten by a younger you."

"_Beaten?_ I'm not so straggly as you, more upper body strength, I've had a lot more practise hitting things _and_ I've got a younger body! What've you got?"

The Doctor-10 sneered. "My fightin' hand!" To his rival's surprise, he leapt at The Doctor-11 once again, both tumbling to the floor.

Rory groaned and looked to Captain Harkness. "Doesn't this place have security? If I owned this place, they'd've been thrown out by now."

Jack shrugged. "I paid 'em off. No way anyone's getting in the way of this fight." He smirked. "How long do you think it'll take for them to start kissing?"

A battle had never ceased so quickly. Both Doctors released their hold and staggered upright, the sheer speed of the move causing them to teeter. Neither one looked at the other, only glared, red-faced at the man finishing his third lejkip.

"That may be how _your_ fights end up, Jack," The Doctor-11 grumbled, shifting a twisted brace into position, "But with normal people, a punch is a punch, no physical double-entendre."

"Except we're not normal people," said The Doctor-10.

"Except we're not normal people," The Doctor-11 repeated, snappily. "But that doesn't mean - ."

"Will both of you shut up and explain what's going on?" Rory interjected. "I mean, you can talk, but, just don't start attacking each other again."

Jack got down off his stool and walked over to the bedraggled timelords just as the two of them opened their mouths. "No, see, here's how it should go. You -," he pointed at The Doctor-10, "should do the talking. Otherwise there'll just be more of the same but less fun to watch."

"Hang on," said Rory. "Why him? The other Doctor's older, more experienced."

"I don't know him as well as mine, and besides, _my_ Doctor's voice is much easier on the ears."

The Doctor-11 scowled.

Rory persisted. "I don't trust the earlier Doctor as much as I trust him. That one hit me."

"You hit _Rory_?" The Doctor-11 wrinkled his nose at The Doctor-10 .

"I thought he was you!" The Doctor-10 protested. "I did say sorry."

Jack put up his hands. "All right, let's get to the point. What exactly did you do to upset him?" He looked from the man in the bowtie to the one in the longcoat.

"I _apparently_," The Doctor-11 lathered on as much scorn as he could, "sent him an unsavoury message, presumably including the co-ordinates to find me, though why in the name of sanity I would risk botching the timelines to insult myself and furthermore give him the opportunity for revenge is beyond even my ability to fathom."

The Doctor-10 returned the venom with a withering look of his own and reached inside his coat. "Then maybe you should take a good, hard look and explain - _this_." He whipped out a piece of paper and unfolded it for all to see. "This arrived in a hypercube, addressed to me. Not only is it written in Old High Gallifreyan, but it's signed in our name, our _real_ name."

"That's not my handwriting," said The Doctor-11.

"Oh come off it," The Doctor-10 snapped. "I know it's you. Why else did I find you here? No one knows our name. Those that did are gone, long gone. Perhaps I'd budge on the modern language, writing forged from studying texts scattered across the universe, but not this. Who else could possibly know how to write _this_?" He waved the letter so furiously the symbols were a blur. Annoyed, The Doctor-11 snatched it and started to read.

"What about his wife?" Rory suggested, setting his jaw the moment The Doctor-11's eyes shot up from over the top of the letter.

"His what?" said Jack.

"My wi – hold on, did you say _wife?_" The Doctor-10 spluttered.

Giving up on trying to read beyond the first sentence, The Doctor-11 sucked his teeth and made his uppity retort. "Yes, didn't I mention? You are officially, unofficially, mostly, not quite, but importantly symbolically married. Again. Congratulations."

"What?"

"Well we were a giant robot at the time but I'm sure she'll insist on something more appropriate later when I give her half the chance. Not sure if I intend to, sort of makes it more interesting – haven't actually seen her since the ceremony… think I'll give it a bit. Clever thing about time machines…"

"_What?_" The Doctor-10 reiterated. His brown eyes blazed murder. "On top of everything, after _that_," he jabbed a finger at the letter, "you went ahead and got us… I don't believe this. How long have I even been gone? No, I don't think I even want to know."

The Doctor-11 glared angrily at his younger self. He threw the same look at Jack to warn him off the subject before he snapped the paper out in front of him and made a point of continuing. Quickly, he scanned the lines. Within seconds his brow had reached optimum height, his eyes wide, expression pale. "This…"

"Yep." The Doctor-10 nodded.

"This is filthy!"

"Mmhm. Now read the second half."

"I don't know if I -."

"Read."

The Doctor-11 did so. He trembled and pursed his lips. "This, this… no. No one would write this. This is just sick. Sick and, and, and cruel."

"What does it say?" Jack asked.

"Stuff," said The Doctor-11. "It says stuff. Horrible, horrible stuff, and it wasn't me, and I refuse to believe it was her."

After a moment of tense silence, Jack put in, "What about… you know who?"

"This isn't Harry Potter, Jack," The Doctor-10 snapped. "And no, it can't be him. He's dead. Twice dead, stuck in an infinite time loop."

"Is this a timelord we're talking about?" Rory wondered. "Because, from my experience, they seem to do pretty well at getting out of certain doom."

The loud clicking of a Tephalisk tongue seized their attention. The human, the immortal and the timelords turned to see the little black-scaled tech that had assisted The Doctor-11 earlier that day. Standing where the bar floor met the carpeted interior of the main hallways the Tephalisk bowed its head, wire-coiled arms behind its back in a polite gesture.

"Apologies, friends, for interrupting. We believe the problem with your suites properly resolved. We want to assure you that you will not leave here without the treatment you deserve. Please accept admission into the VIP halls of the complex. All of its rooms have been booked for you. Much of the food will not be simulated – signals received by trained chefs waiting on your whim, subject to availability. Furnishings are 75% actual, allowing for a night's rest within the rooms themselves once you wish programmes ended. The offer is extended freely to your associates in good faith."

"Er, thanks," said Rory.

"Whoah, you were _both_ staying in the pleasure suites?" Jack gave The Doctor-11 a coy smile.

"Oi, no, it's not like – they're not just for that sort of thing. Anyway, I came here for Rory. This is Rory's stag party."

"After I've got married," said Rory, adding hastily, "But not to The Doctor."

"Yes. Rory's not my wife."

The Tephalisk clicked its tongue again. They mumbled apologies and looked to one another for answers. The Doctor-11 folded the offensive letter and went to retrieve his jacket from beside the counter.

"Since we're here and being offered first-class treatment for nothin', I'm all for it," Jack said with a shrug. "I've got two Doctors, anything else is a bonus."

The Doctor-10 slipped his hands into his pockets and approached the Tephalisk. "It's all very nice of you, but how is it you've managed to get the whole VIP section? I mean, this place is popular, phenomenally popular. You can't have turfed everyone out."

"A reservation was made," the crocodilian creature replied.

"Who by?" The Doctor-10 asked as The Doctor-11 returned, tweed donned, dabbing a handkerchief at his lip.

The Tephalisk inclined its head and spoke delicately.

"Mrs Song."


	8. Chapter 8

The time travellers' acceptance of the offer was made more out of surprise than considered choice. Bewildered, aside from the smug time agent, they followed the Tephalisk back toward the SES quarter.

"Doctor, how did she know we would be here?" Rory whispered.

"She's from my future, Rory," The Doctor-11 answered. "Any time after today she could have found out and chosen to interfere."

"You don't think she's annoyed, then? I mean if she's _booked_ the rooms, that's a good sign, isn't it?"

The Doctor-11 gave Rory a strained sort of smile. "Probably. Or it might explain the convenient malfunctions. Keeping to the positive, yes, but just in case, I'll let you go first, and before I go any further – _what?_" He stopped in his tracks and rounded on his past incarnation who had spent the last five minutes staring at him as they walked. This stare was more discomfiting than Jack's quiet fascination. There was little warmth in it – pointed, concerned and reluctantly confused. The expression did not change even when confronted.

"You should know 'what'," The Doctor-10 said in a curt tone. "Your memories of being me looking at you – you should know."

"You shouldn't be here at all. I don't remember meeting you, I mean, _me_, here. Even now, the changes in time should be shifting in my head, but I feel _nothing_. The memory is missing. If I knew where you were in our timeline I could tell you where I was before it changed, but nothing else. So, being that I don't have the advantage I should, nor know which one of the numerous problems upon which you may be fixating, you'll have to enlighten me." He resumed walking. His younger self caught up effortlessly.

"Mrs Song. That would be Professor _River_ Song?"

The Doctor-11 looked away, his foresight weighing heavily at heart. "Yes. Well, she's 'Doctor' Song at the moment, or sometimes less qualified. It's all wibbly wobbly -."

" – timey wimey. I can see that." They continued walking after the Tephalisk in silence for a minute before The Doctor-10's hovering words slipped. "You're him."

The Doctor-11 managed to spare him a glance.

"You're the me that marries her. River Song. She's your wife."

"Yes."

After a long awkward draw of breath, The Doctor-10 nodded. "Good."

As they were walking, Rory and Jack had been three steps behind, listening to the timelord exchange. Once the conversation option had dropped to stoicism, the 51st century human spoke to the 21st in confidence. "So, Rory, how'd you come to meet The Doctor?"

"Bit of a long story."

Jack grinned. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Well, it's sort of more _complicated_ than long. He's my wife's imaginary friend from when she was little. Crashed the TARDIS in her garden when she was seven, came back twelve years later when she was grown up and that's when I met him. It all happened really fast, coma patients sleepwalking and the sun went bonkers, and there he was running around being important."

"Sounds like The Doctor. Somethin' to do with the end of the world?"

"How did you guess?"

Jack laughed then looked to the two figures ahead of them, one with hands in pockets, the other's fists clenched at his sides. "And now he's married. Wonder how many times that's happened. Must be one special girl if he's taking time to celebrate."

Distaste etched Rory's face. "What do you mean?"

"Hey, don't get defensive. The Doctor, he's been around a long time, travelled with a lot of people in his day. I've seen all kinds of classified archives throughout history – a few stolen kisses from a stranger who subsequently vanished in a police box, Victorian maids let back into their masters' houses in the middle of the night with a buzzing alien device. A lot of it's rumour, attention-seeking: people want to boast they've got in the pants of a timelord. Others though, others aren't such a glowing review. The diary of a certain Tudor queen?" Jack let out a whistle.

"Marilyn Monroe…" Rory murmured.

"It's not that I blame him," Jack added. "When you live that long 'as long as you both shall live' doesn't really work the same. Believe me, I get that."

Rory raised his eyebrows. "Are you an alien?"

"No. More like a human anomaly. I'm way older than I look."

"There's a lot of that going around." After mulling over their conversation, Rory asked, "Before, were you implying that The Doctor could be unfaithful?"

"Maybe I just want him to be." Jack winked and nodded at the timelords' backs. "You heard all of that didn't you?"

"Yep," said The Doctors.

* * *

><p>Reaching the main lobby of the SES complex, the humans and timelords were issued with the necessary equipment and beverages before being escorted past the corridors of normal suites. Led up a vast white staircase, the irony not lost on the party, they arrived in a pod-like room with three doors.<p>

"These are your rooms," the Tephalisk explained, indicating the sealed chambers. "Inside you will find everything to your satisfaction. The VIP areas are also linked. You may use the communication panels within to contact your friends and explore the sections beyond your private rooms. We hope you enjoy your stay." It began to hand out magnetic passes for the doors.

"Erm, excuse me, sorry," The Doctor-10 chirped. "There are four of us. Three rooms, four of us. I've not got a degree in mathematics, well, maybe a little one, but I think we can see the problem."

The Tephalisk pressed a series of buttons on its right arm. A pale beam of yellow light enveloped both of The Doctors, causing the creature's apparatus to bleep. No sooner had the beam stopped, the Tephalisk looked up at the timelords and shook its head. "Please forgive our discrimination. Being that you are of identical genetic coding, it is not our policy to supply extra rooms. You will understand that there are species that may otherwise exploit this rule."

"Ooh mitosian entities, clever!" The Doctor-10 replied, delighted. "Split themselves into dozens of copies, have as many rooms to themselves as they like, cheeky things!"

"You're telling us we have to _share_?" The Doctor-11 spluttered.

"You will forgive us," the Tephalisk said. It gave a prompt bow and set off back down the stairs.

Jack smirked. "Come on, Rory, let's leave the two lovebirds to get settled in. We can convene in, I d' know, a few hours? Check out what else it has to offer. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." He swiped his pass on the panel of his door and disappeared into his suite.

"Why do I get the feeling that's a broad suggestion?" Rory mumbled. He glanced at the timelords, who seemed to be staring at him for want of something to do. Discomfited, he swiped his own card. "Er, I'll – I'll see you both later. Sorry. Hope your room's… nice." He hurried through, bumping his shoulder on the doorframe in his eagerness to escape.

With little other choice beyond leaving, The Doctor-11 accessed the door with their one pass and entered the suite first. He disabled the AI simulations before his younger self had stepped over the threshold. They watched, intrigued, as their main private room – about the size of The Doctor-11's control room – decorated itself, surfaces virtually tessellating into splendid colours. The walls glowed a gentle, nostalgic sunset; the ceiling faded to star- and nebula-studded blackness, and the floor rippled blues and pinks, holographic fish zipping around the legs of the real furniture. Chairs; tables; bookshelves; a few strange sculptures and other curious alien furniture of unknown purpose were placed about the room, all of them a polished onyx hue in order to fit with the majority of backgrounds. Spheres of hazy light drifted about like tired, Skittle-coloured fireflies.

"Blimey," said The Doctor-10. "Was going to say 'could've been worse'. Could've been a studio flat, but this, this is impressive." He turned on the spot, admiring the place in general before his gaze dropped to the sight of The Doctor-11 jumping up and down on a single bed. "Oi! What are you -? Ohhh, in your shoes as well!" He gurned with disapproval.

"'Ow else do you test for bounce? If you don't, you can't invent a bounceometer."

"What?"

The Doctor-11 sprang back down to the floor. "A bed's not cool if it's not got enough bounce."

"Right. I go a bit strange in my old age, then. Interesting to know."

"Oh, put a lid on it. You're not exactly a paragon on social behaviour. You're only being all stuffy because I'm here." The Doctor-11 flopped back onto the mattress.

Not moving from his position in the centre of the room, The Doctor-10 stood facing his other self. "You turned off the simulations."

The Doctor-11 sat up and leaned against the bedpost. "The room's already crowded enough."

"Right." The response was flat and at first it seemed The Doctor-10 was taking his leave, making for the door of the next chamber. Instead he took hold of a curve-backed chair and dragged it back to the middle of the room. He sat opposite his older incarnation and leant forward, hands clasped, elbows balanced on his knees. He stared. His other self stared back. "Are you really what I become?"

The Doctor-11 said nothing, but his expression radiated arrogance. With a sigh, The Doctor-10 slumped back and folded his arms. He cast his eye about the room again, trying not to let emotion burst out. The silent room and the infuriating stillness of its other occupant made it all the worse. So many questions he shouldn't ask, shouldn't want to ask, so many hopes and fears and accusations. _It's not fair. It's not FAIR. I want to be this way, this me, this Doctor forever. I want this body, these thoughts – will I still think like this? I want – I want – it's not fair. _The anger and hurt raged in his blood. He knew it was childish, it wasn't as though he had not been through all this before, but it was never easy, and he was so _afraid. _He wanted to leap across and strike that self-satisfied face, but it was wrong. Even though it was a younger face, even with that rebellious sneer, those eyes held the mark of time. He wanted to hit that young old man, he wanted to hold him in friendship in a quiet without discomfort, he wanted to laugh and share the good times, he wanted to fall sobbing at his feet. It reminded him of someone else, but this man he didn't know how to forgive.

When he could contain his words no longer, he settled on one of the most nagging lines of inquiry. "River. Our wi- _your_ wife." He searched The Doctor-11's face for any sign of softening, but the façade of nonchalance did not waver. Not yet. "But _how_? She looks old enough to be your mother! Or is she younger now? I'm sorry, that's rude of me, but, I d'know, I thought you'd be more aged, with a moustache or something."

The Doctor-11 laughed then. The Doctor-10 wanted to laugh with him, but something had been gnawing at his innards for a while now. He swallowed, finding the courage to ask.

"How long -?" He broke off, stumbling over the words. He tried again. "You're the next one, so, how long -?"

"How long do you have?" The Doctor-11 guessed.

"No. How long… did you wait?" His teeth ground, his bitterness clear. "You know how we felt. How long? Because if you forgot – if you just woke up and forgot her and went breezing off -."

The older timelord's mask of conviction broke, venom pouring through the cracks. "Don't insult me. Don't you ever, _ever_ presume to judge circumstances you have not yet lived. I have _never_ forgotten. The pain is less now, joined with the ranks of everything else we have lost, and put in perspective, _She. Is. Alive_." He chewed thin air to overcome his anger. "So, in answer to your question – how long did I wait since Rose Tyler? How's two hundred years?"

The Doctor-10 was stunned. An excruciating minute of silence ensued, the timelord in the chair glancing between the drifting spheres and his next incarnation who was busy watching the progress of a fish that was circling his shoes.

"So… Hedonis 4…"

The Doctor-11 looked up at The Doctor-10's words.

"Wanna go 'ave a look?" The Doctor-10 put on a stupid grin.

The Doctor-11 smiled.


	9. Chapter 9

"Gallifrey…"

The timelords walked into the vast ballroom with its staggeringly ornate ceiling, crystal chandeliers and diamond trellises floating beneath a painted dome, but all they cared to see was the view beyond the huge arching windows. Stone steps descended onto meadows of red grass, dotted here and there with great silvery trees. The horizon blazed burnt orange above the misted peaks of distant mountains.

"Oh but it's so beautiful," The Doctor-10 uttered, his voice crackling with grief and wonder.

"If only it were real," The Doctor-11 murmured. He sniffed, his eyes watering as much as the man standing beside him. "Memories, that's all it is, plucked from our minds and made as close to reality as software could."

"So much it could have been."

"Now will never be."

The Doctor-10 swept his palms down his face and took a breath to compose himself. "Look at the pair of us. Fuelling off each other. Is this the result of my decline? Are you the 'doom and gloom Doctor'?"

"No!" The Doctor-11 said, indignant. "I'm the Fun-Doctor. You've caught me on a bad day, and, let's face it, today isn't exactly normal, even for us."

"Fun? Well, I suppose that gives the bowtie a purpose, but the old granddad thing?" The Doctor-10 wrinkled his nose.

"It's much cooler than question marks."

"Arrogance of youth. You should know better. Still, shouldn't blame you for your change in taste. I must have been a hard act to follow."

The Doctor-11 challenged his younger self's smarm with a patronising smile. "What else could The Doctor do once he'd become legend? Where does he go from there? The realms of myth, the mysterious fairytale."

"You're the fairytale Doctor?"

"The Fun-Doctor and the Fairytale-Doctor. Oi, don't laugh. Fairytales, _proper _fairytales are nothing to laugh at. They teach you lessons, issue warnings, even give you nightmares."

"You'd make a _terrible_ salesman, but that's probably a compliment." The Doctor-10 snickered. "Come on, Cinderella, shall we go to the ball?" He stepped back into the body of the room and gestured to the hall at large.

The Doctor-11 winced. "I've… been having some trouble with the simulations. It left me somewhat reluctant to use them."

"What sort of -?"

"I'd rather not linger on specifics. They said it's fixed now, but after last time I'm not convinced."

"It'll be fine. There's two of us now, two brilliant minds. Anything goes wrong, we'll sort it. Might as well enjoy it before I find out why I'm here." The Doctor-10 observed the need for further persuasion. "I dare you."

His other self frowned. "If you think that for one moment -"

The Doctor-10 squawked like a chicken.

With a futile snarl, The Doctor-11 moved for the jukebox-like control panel beside the door. "All right, but don't say I didn't warn you. I'm putting it to a refined setting. The people in the simulations will be strangers, faces pulled from the furthest recesses of our memory, anyone we've passed in a crowd or seen for little more than a second."

Smiling triumphantly, The Doctor-10 joined him at the console. Before the command could be executed, he batted away The Doctor-11's hand. "Hang on, 'ang on, we're not ready." He tapped a sequence of buttons, skimming through the options on screen.

"What are you doing?" the older timelord blurted with an element of panic.

The fingers kept tapping until a tunnel of light shot vertically from their feet, there and gone in a split-second.

"No, no, no, no, _no!_" The Doctor-11 spread his arms in dismay at the sudden appearance of the dinner suit and white gloves he was now wearing. "Not hologram clothes!"

The Doctor-10 grinned back at him, clad in his own set of formal wear. "Oh but they're brilliant! Now we're dressed for the occasion, and look! We're both wearing bowties in the only situation that they're cool."

Poking at one of his arms and discovering the feel of tweed beneath when he concentrated, The Doctor-11 seemed relieved. "Still there."

"Of course your old clothes are still there, it's only a projection, and blimey, you actually scrub up well. But of course you do, you are me after all. And see, you've even got a top hat!" The Doctor-10 stepped forward and gave the item in question a poke. He blinked in surprise when the hat fell off and The Doctor-11 was forced to grab it. "Ooh, sorry. Didn't realise the programming would be that clever. That is _amazing_. Virtual objects you can actually touch; not just movement sensors, but adaptable environments with controlled electrical feedback. Brilliant."

The Doctor-11 rolled his eyes, placed the simulated hat back on his head and hit the largest button on the console. His younger self's face lit up with joy as simulations rippled into existence, filling the room with people. Unaware that they had not always been there, the guests mingled and danced, women in bright flowing gowns, men in suits or robes. Most of them were human, but amongst them could be seen Catkind, Hath, Malmooth, even Silurians. Classical Earth music faded in along with the expected clinking of glasses and murmured voices.

Unable to resist, The Doctor-10 gave a bright smile and moved off into the crowd. Each person he passed was happy to see him, ladies blushed, Hath bubbled, all around were general nods of approval. It was a matter of moments before he was whisked into the throng of dancers, changing partners as the song dictated. Amused, The Doctor-11 remained a wallflower and watched the scene play. It was not long, though, before he was approached.

"May I have this dance, Doctor?"

He turned to see a Silurian woman, young and clad beautifully in Edwardian costume. She smiled coyly at him, her stare intense, but he was not intimidated. He returned the playful mien.

"Tempting, but I think I'll sit this one out."

She gave an involuntary hiss of disappointment but her expression retained its warmth. "Do you not enjoy the activity?"

"What? No, no, I love dancing. Rarely turn the offer down, in fact." He softened his voice. "Sorry. My friend over there, well, he's me, but we'll call him my friend, arrogant and loud and really quite stupid sometimes despite being so clever, but we'll still call him my friend… he's had a rough time of it. It's literally self-serving of me, but I want to see him happy, as happy as a virtual world such as this can provide. He's got a lot more to get through before… before the end."

"And this stops you from dancing? Would it not serve the same purpose for him to see you happy, to know he will be so?"

The Doctor-11 presented her with a sly smile. "Insightful for a projection. No, I must still decline. The spirit of the waltz is not in me tonight."

The Silurian chuckled. "That is easily remedied." She put her green-scaled fingers to her mouth and gave a piercing whistle. At once, the orchestral music dwindled. Several Silurians dove out of the fray and took up positions in a corner of the room. They produced a number of brass and wind instruments before one of the catkind sprang over and set up a drum-kit. Within seconds, the ballroom sound morphed from sophisticated to fast-paced and frisky. The party-goers whooped, dancers pulling back from their partners to focus on daring footwork and whirling. Some that had previously been socialising put down their drinking glasses and slid in their spats onto the dance floor.

"Ha!" The Doctor-11 cried. "A Silurian swing band. That _is_ magnificent."

His prospective partner offered her hand again. "More to your taste, or should I give you up as an addition to the furnishing?"

The Doctor-11 feigned a growl of annoyance. "Oh, come on then, gorgeous." He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the dance. Many of the couples gladly cleared the floor to make way for the new arrivals. The timelord may have been old, but his energies reflected his twenty-something appearance. Footwork flying, triple-stepping, The Doctor-11 and the Silurian seemed to dance and compete in equal measure. They stepped in and out, challenge written on their faces, spinning and reeling to the awe of the onlookers. The Doctor-10 had paused since the cessation of the waltz and now watched the spectacle with approving surprise. He was soon coaxed into a swing step of his own with an enthusiastic human brunette.

Some dances later, the timelords broke away from the floor and a slower, lilting theme encompassed the room. The Doctor-10 indulged in conversation with the swing band members and a few swooning ladies, whilst The Doctor-11 left his partner in the company of one of her fellow species. He stood beside one of the wide windows, looking out at the false sky that reddened in its descent to nightfall. It was a fantastic dream, one in which he had once nearly become lost. Perhaps it had been a plan of the Silence, maybe it still was, but he had hope again now. No more running.

He looked back to his younger self and saw that he had been persuaded back to the dancing. Filled with an affection, The Doctor- 11 slipped quietly back to the console. A thought had struck him, but it was risky. Not for fear the simulations would go awry – they had held up so far – but how it would be received. Carefully, he adjusted the settings and glanced over to the dancers.

The Doctor-10 turned gently on the spot with his partner, his contented smile hiding his inner sadness as best it could. It did not seem to matter. The simulations took care not to react to any flinching of his emotions; he might have noticed that none of his partners held any similarity to anyone he had known.

A hand tapped him on the shoulder. "S'cuse me, mate. Can I 'ave this dance?"

For an instant he felt only one of his hearts beating. His current partner looked past him at the owner of the voice, nodded her head and broke away, guiding him around to face the one asking. The Doctor-10 could not speak. He stared at her as she bit her lip, the image of tumbling blonde hair checked with a ribbon as lavender as her dress. Swallowing, he managed to cast his eyes away, to meet the gaze of the man at the control panel.

'You?' he asked silently.

The Doctor-11 pointed to the controls and drew a finger across his throat. It was a question. The Doctor-10 did not hesitate to shake his head.

'One dance,' The Doctor-11 mouthed, not unkindly.

'Thank you.'

The woman in lavender raised her eyebrow. "D'you wanna dance wiv 'im?"

"Hm?" The Doctor- 10 blinked at her before the question registered. "No! It – he's, he's no one. I, that is… Rose, I would be honoured to dance with you." Captivated, he led her into the middle of the floor and put his arms around her.

The Doctor-11 reverted to his wallflower pose and watched in bittersweet peace.

"I can see it, you know. What you saw in her. Not just a pretty face."

He smiled, attention fixed to the couple slow-dancing in the crimson light. "I choose them carefully."

"Must've been a lapse of certainty with me."

The penny dropped. The Doctor-11 spun to see the owner of the voice. "River."

"Hello sweetie." Dressed entirely in black, her gown cut off in feathers below the knees, the same feathers at her shoulders and in the cocktail hat planted atop her curls.

The Doctor-11 forced a smile and spoke through his teeth. "Of course, couldn't isolate just one of us. What are you doing wearing that?"

"Do you like it?" she purred. "I thought I'd go for controversial. A lady wearing black when her partner's set to match, but _not_ attending a funeral?" She faked a gasp. "How tasteless, just begging for trouble."

"You already are trouble, even in virtual form."

She smirked. "Oh but I'm just your sort of trouble. Care to get into some? I'll go gently if you're tired." River indicated the dance floor.

The Doctor-11 laughed. "No."

The teasing expression did not leave her face. "No, you're not tired or no, you won't dance?"

"Just no."

River grinned. "I don't blame you. Have to behave now you're married. But that's not quite true."

"The behaving or the being married?"

"Your marriage isn't entirely complete, is it?" She prowled closer.

His own countenance grew darker. "You tell me. You're the information extracted from my subconscious."

"Spoilers."

The dance ended. Applause clamoured across the ballroom and the guests retreated to the edges of the hall, pre-recorded classical music taking over from the live performances. The Doctor-10 and his partner walked over to the man with his simulated wife.

"Ah, Ms, er, Mrs Song," he said, fumbling for a coherent sentence. "Fancy seeing you here. I'd thank you for your generous invitation, but you're not the real deal, are you?" He glanced to his older self. "She's not, is she?" The woman at his side coughed. "Oh, right, yes, sorry. River, this is Rose. Rose Tyler. Rose, this is Mrs Song. She's his wife, and he -." The Doctor-10 swallowed, unsure of his words.

"He's The Doctor," said Rose.

The Doctor-10's brow furrowed. "But you've never met -."

"She's not real," The Doctor-11 reminded him. "The programme is selecting from both our memories. She knows me because I knew her."

"So you're The Doctor's wife, yeah?" Rose looked to River. "Does that mean we should fight or somefin'?"

River smiled. "If you like. Might ruin our clothes."

"I'll let you off, then." Rose grinned back. "Although…" Her eyes flicked demurely from the timelord on her arm to the other. "I don't mind sharin' if you don't."

The Doctor-11 went pale.

"What?" said The Doctor-10.

River looked the younger-in-years Doctor up and down. "No complaints here."

"Er, I'm complaining," The Doctor-10 interjected. "This is me complaining. Just stop it now. This isn't funny."

Rose kept looking at The Doctor-11. So engrossed in the scene were the two timelords that they did not register the whirring noise of a creature's approach. It stopped beside The Doctor-10 and presented him with a tray of fluted glasses.

"DO. YOU. REQUIRE. CHAMPAAAAAAGNE?"

Both Doctors started with a gasp. When The Doctor-10 had caught himself, he turned his bewildered attention to the butler Dalek. Its eyestalk peered up at him curiously.

"DO. YOU -?"

"No, I d -," The Doctor-10 checked his tone, though he was not sure why he afforded it the courtesy. "No. Thanks. I'm trying to cut down on imaginary refreshment."

The Dalek turned its attention to The Doctor-11. Before it had chance to ask, the intended customer yelled, "Go away!" Obliging, it trundled off.

Seeing that River and Rose were still staring at each other's Doctors, The Doctor-10 clenched his teeth and looked wildly at his older self. "What is happening? Is this some sick plan of yours?"

The Doctor-11 glared back. "I told you the simulations were faulty."

"Well, you know what I think? I don't think it's the technology," The Doctor-10 snarled. "I think it's all you. Foul-minded and twisted in your old age!"

"My mind is _your_ mind. It's too late for refunds if you're having disputes over the warranty. But this is _not me_."

"I fink we should jus' go for it," said Rose.

"Agreed," said River.

Rose leapt across and pressed her lips to The Doctor-11's. The data in her fingertips convinced him that she had him held fast.

"Rose!" The Doctor-10 screamed. Before he could act on his horror, he found himself leaping back from an advancing River. "No! No-no-no-no! River, get back!"

The Doctor-11 pulled free of Miss Tyler's grasp and darted across to grab River. She laughed when he shoved her aside, putting himself between her and his younger self. This turned out to be an unfortunate move, for The Doctor-10 took the opportunity to haul him backward.

"Agh! Get off!" The Doctor-11 cried before he found himself facing his snarling counterpart. "No, no, no, don't!" He ducked the punch by a fraction, but only by the sheer luck of instinct, which had bizarrely told him to grab hold of The Doctor-10 and slam their foreheads together. Both of them yelped with the pain.

"Oh, God!" The Doctor-10 burst out. "If that doesn't explode the universe through a paradox -."

"I didn't mean to do that!" The Doctor-11 yelled, one hand clutching his aching head, the other still gripped tight to The Doctor-10's simulated jacket out of self-preservation. "Something must be protecting us, and I bet it has something to do with why I can't remember being here as you."

"So much stuff, there's so much stuff inside your head. Time breaking, white light, spacesuit, silence falling, baby crying. Why can I see a shark? There's a flying shark!"

"It doesn't matter. Just concentrate and stop! Listen to me, this is very important. Before you even start to think about trying to hit me again, just stop."

The Doctor-10 found his senses and snapped his attention to the man before him. His sharp features twisted into a bitter grimace. "Give me one good reason."

"Look around you."

It took a moment for his seething to fade. No sooner had the cloud of rage lifted, The Doctor-10 saw the fear in The Doctor-11's eyes. The Doctor-10 slowly released his older self and discovered they were standing in the middle of the ballroom. They were surrounded by a tight circle of people, but not one of them was male. The party guests were nowhere to be seen; only the figures of women ranging from close friends to brief encounters.

"Try not to make eye contact," The Doctor-11 murmured. "If you don't engage, the programmes might stay dormant."

"Except we've already disturbed them," The Doctor-10 replied, his gaze drawn to Rose.

She had joined the circle, along with River.

"Doctor," the simulation of Rose called. "Make a choice."

"Don't answer her," The Doctor-11 warned. He turned away from his younger self, standing back to back with him. Knowing River was already an active programme, he focused on her. He could not help his attention drift, however. "Oh no, the vampires are here, too."

"The _what_?" The Doctor-10 bleated.

"Nothing."

"Make a choice, Doctor," Rose repeated. "We're all waiting for a dance."

"We're waiting, Doctor," River echoed. "You must choose a partner."

"Choose," they chanted.

"Choose," hissed the Saturnyns in their disturbing unison.

"Chan-choose-tho!"

"Choose!"

"Nine-year-old trying to rebuild a motorbike -."

"Choose…"

The two Doctors looked on in despair, trapped, helpless.

The Doctor-11 swallowed, combatting a dry throat. "I have a plan."

"Okay," said The Doctor-10.

"It's not a very good plan."

"It's good enough for me."

"In fact it's actually a really stupid plan."

"Look, it doesn't matter. Tell me what it is."

"I really don't think you're going to like it."

"Just tell me!"

The Doctor-11 winced. "You're me. Do I really have to tell you what the plan is?"

"Is it the stupid one or the really stupid one?"

"What's the stupid one?"

"Ugh, there's only the really stupid one and I was hoping you'd have another plan."

"Sorry."

"Never mind. Let's get it over with."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

The Doctors-10&11 pulled equally mortified faces and yelled together:

"Allons-y!"


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N**: _Apologies for slow updates of this story. If you want these quicker, check out my deviantART SparrowandJesh, they go there first and look prettier. __Quick note: A couple of you had issues with 11's comment about how long he's loved River. Are you forgetting his Rule Number One?_ - DFQ xxx

* * *

><p>"Hang on, why are you the one leading?" The Doctor-10 protested as he turned about the room with his chosen partner. It was an awkward waltz, not only on account of the lack of accompaniment.<p>

"I've got a top hat," said The Doctor-11. His eyes darted from side to side as they moved, wary of the circle of simulations.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Everything. Also, I'm the oldest. Now shut up, I'm trying to think, and it would be really helpful if you'd stop _treading on my toes_!"

"Don't blame me! I'm not the one who's had time to take lessons in activities for girls. Honestly, the things I'm picking up from your head -."

"Concentrate on here, now. You shouldn't have seen anything. I didn't send a telepathic signal, so I can only assume it was a random burst of information caused by our proximity."

"Speaking of which, how long do we have to do this? Is it even working? 'Cause if I'm about to get jumped by a crowd of eager virtual women, I'd sooner savour one last scrap of dignity."

The Doctor-11 slowed their pace in order to get a better glimpse of the faulty projections. "Er… they're not making any moves yet. I think we've confused the programmes, but I'm not placing any bets on how long it takes for them to find a way round it."

"Why don't we just disassemble the bots, the projectrons?"

"Been there, done that. They reconstitute fast and then I get earache from a pre-recorded message. Maybe if we tried via the console…"

"You didn't think of trying that _first_?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was a little distracted by the paradox looking to smash me in the face."

"Well maybe if you hadn't let her stick her tongue down your – OW!"

"Oops, was that _your_ foot that time? Clumsy old me! Right, we'd better hope they let us past, so look like you're having the time of your life."

The Doctor-10 put on a dazzling smile, but his eyes were afire. He spoke through clenched teeth. "I hate you."

"I know." The Doctor-11 whirled with his younger self across the ballroom, spinning in wide circles that looped closer to the control panel. Luck held out enough for the simulated females to step aside and let them break the line. The Doctors danced alongside the access point, taking pains not to have to look at one another.

"Right, now use your sonic," The Doctor-11 instructed. "My sonic's in my jacket, which, although would delight me in having to remove my hand from your waist, would disrupt our movements and more likely upset the programmes. I'd also have to convince myself this suit _has_ an inside pocket."

The Doctor-10 let the hand that had been at his other incarnation's back fall to his pocket. It took a few seconds longer than he had expected to find the sonic screwdriver, for he could feel the hologram pocket impressing its existence over the real one. At last his fingers locked around it and the sonic was soon pointed at the console. Blue light shone from the emitter and the familiar _bzzzzzt_ echoed through the hall. "Gah! It's deadlocked!" he growled.

"That's impossible!"

"It is! It's deadlocked."

"You just mean it's not working! It can't be deadlocked. Why would anyone fit the console with deadlock circuitry? Well, apart from preventing people like us interfering with the system, but why would they expect it? Why not frisk people before they went in their rooms? Unless – ".

"Unless that was what someone wanted."

"This is a trap. Someone knew I would come here. They've prepared."

"But why?" The Doctor-10 hissed. "And what am _I_ doing here?"

The Doctor-11 gave a worried frown. "Maybe they need both of us. Anyway, we need to stop talking."

"What? Why?"

"Because you've stopped dancing."

"I've not stopped dancing. You've stopped dancing!"

"Oh, fine. Let's argue about that, shall we? I'll just tell the ravening hordes to give us a few minutes."

The Doctor-10 noted the circle of simulations that had become a zombified mass with a slow approach. He exchanged a glance with The Doctor-11 before the two of them bolted into the first room. The Doctor-10 threw himself headlong at the entrance to the suite, tugging frantically at the vault-like door. "The pass!" he yelled. "Throw me the pass!"

The Doctor-11 paused in the act of shoving a bookshelf across the way they had come and scrabbled in his false and real pockets for the item in question. "It won't work, I'm telling you now!"

The Doctor-10 snarled irritably and clapped his fingers in hurried frustration. The pass was thrown. He swiped it across the panel and, sure enough, it was rejected. He tried his psychic paper to no effect. When his sonic screwdriver achieved the same result he roared and banged his hands on the cold metal. "Open this door!"

"Oh, give it a rest!" The Doctor-11 bellowed. "Save your energy for something useful like helping me with this!"

After one last beat on the door, The Doctor-10 bounded back across the room and seized the other end of the bookcase The Doctor-11 had been pushing. "Will this work?" he barked, as it slid against the ballroom door.

"I don't know! Maybe as long as the simulations believe they're real."

"We need to get to Jack and Rory. First we'll have to see if we can contact them, then we'll have to think about getting past that lot."

Both Doctors raced for the nearest control panel set into one of the sunset-toned walls.

"Wait, wait, what are you doing?" The Doctor-10 stuttered.

"Patching through to the other VIP chambers."

"No-no-no-no, one of us needs to guard the door!"

The Doctor-11's fingers were already pattering at the screen's options. "Then you'd better get back there while I'm talking." He selected the call function for Rory's room.

"Why does it have to be you?"

"Out of the two of us which one is most likely to be a calming influence on Rory?" At his younger self's draw of breath, The Doctor-11 tried again. "Out of the two of us which one has not struck him in the face?"

"Ah." The Doctor-10 turned on his heels and returned to the doorway as the call was made.

"Pick up, Rory. Pick up, pick up -," The Doctor-11 chanted for what felt like a painful stretch of time until his friend's face appeared on the screen. "Rory! Hello!"

"Doctor?" came the groggy reply.

"Thank goodness, for a moment I thought you were – never mind, is everything all right? This is very important, I need you to – have you been sleeping?"

"I was tired! I just had a little nap. What's _wrong_?"

"And you're fine? Nothing's… happened… while you were asleep?"

"Er, I don't think so… how do you mean _happened_?"

"There aren't any simulations in your room?"

Rory averted his eyes from the screen. "Well, yes, a couple. Why?"

"What are they doing?"

"I d'know, just, sitting, laughing together," the young man said dismissively.

"What sort of laughing? Is it genuine or in a sort of malicious… worrying sort of way?"

Rory sighed. "Doctor, are you telling me there are still problems?"

The Doctor-11 ignored the question. "What form did your simulations take, Rory?"

"Does it matter?"

"Rory, believe me, I wouldn't dream of asking if it wasn't important."

An embarrassed groan slipped from the young human's lips. "They're just – it's Amy and another girl, no one you know. They're messing about and painting something on the floor with their hands."

"What are they painting?"

"I don't know. They're just sloshing it about, making patterns and giggling. Doing… girly stuff."

"They're not doing _anything _unusual?"

"Girly _stuff_?" an incredulous voice came from somewhere behind The Doctor-11.

"They're just scribbling things," Rory insisted. "They've been painting while I slept, and talking. Just hearing them talk, hearing Amy laugh, it helped me sleep, okay? Aside from staying in a room with figments of imagination made real by incredible robots, there's nothing very strange going on. If it makes you happy, I'll take a quick look."

"Okay," said The Doctor-11, "but be careful."

"I will." Rory's jaded words trailed off as he wandered out of sight. When he returned, a frown hovered about his face. "It's probably nothing, but they've started writing words with the paint. Same three words, in a few different colours."

The Doctor-11 managed to look even less relaxed. "What words?"

"They just say 'In Her Name'."

"Whose name?"

"I don't know, it just says 'her'."

"Rory, the simulations, what are they doing now?"

"Nothing. They're still painting. They – oh."

"Rory?"

Rory swallowed, his gaze fixed to a point off-screen. "Doctor, they've stopped. They're looking at me."

"Well, you _are_ talking about them. They could just be running a normal programme. Ask them why they wrote that message."

"Er, I don't think they feel like talking. In fact, I think they look a bit annoyed."

There came a loud thud from The Doctors' room. The Doctor-10 stumbled forward at the sudden jolt of the bookcase behind him. At once, he threw himself against it again and braced for a further attack. "They're pushing!"

The Doctor-11 yelled across, "They can't be pushing. It's real furniture, they can't move real furniture!" He turned back to the screen. "Rory, you need to get out of there. There'll be another room past your first one…" He opened up a separate window on the display to access the VIP area map. "Then straight on through there should be a corridor that loops past all of our suites. Meet us in that corridor. We will be there as soon as we can." He ended the call to Rory's room.

"Hurry up and get hold of Jack. I can't hold this much longer!" The Doctor-10 cried, his converse sliding on the blue floor.

"Wait, there's something I want to try." The Doctor-11 scurried over. "Screwdriver!" He prised the ready device out of his other self's hand and moved out into the centre of the room. "If this works, we're really really stupid." He raised the sonic and stretched out his other arm, revealing the Tinter wrist-strap. "Bound to be useless but I'm not having someone turn up laughing their heads off at Mr Thick that didn't have a crack at it. If we just cancel the signals coming from _us_, the simulations should just stop."

"Wait, don't -!" The Doctor-10 yelled.

Too late, The Doctor-11 set off the emitter. The wrist-strap defences kicked in and electricity surged through the timelord's body. He screamed and stumbled, but was fortunate that the attack ceased as soon as he dropped the screwdriver. "Okay, okay…" he stammered in between a bout of coughing. "Clearly the system is pretty well tamper-proof. Whatever you do, _don't_ sonic the Tinters. Bad plan, silly plan. Back to the first plan." He picked up the sonic, tossed it back to The Doctor-10 then dashed – a little lacking in co-ordination – back to the controls.

"I'm slipping!" his younger self reminded.

"It's in your head. There is nothing pushing that case!" The Doctor-11 set up a call to Harkness's suite. "Come on, come on! Jack, where are you?" The screen remained black. After several more call attempts, the panel popped up with a new window and an automated voice addressed The Doctor-11.

_The person you are calling is unavailable. Please leave them a message by selecting the 'Function' button._

Wincing impatiently, The Doctor-11 jabbed the suggested key and gestured emphatically at the panel to 'get on with it'. "Hello, Jack! It's The Doctor. Both Doctors. Probably know that once you get this message since I think it's a visual recording as well as audio. Not that you can see the other Doctor what with me standing in the way and the fact he's angled a little bit to my left. Bit of a situation, best not keep on waffling. Anyway, listen up, this is really important. Under absolutely no circumstances must you aggravate the simulations in your room. I have reason to believe that all of those in the VIP suite are malfunctioning and I highly doubt yours are exempt -."

Were Jack to receive the message, it likely did not paint as grave a picture as the timelords would have liked. As The Doctor-11 launched into a quick-fire, rather unnecessary, summary of their experience (editing out specific names), his younger counterpart spent the duration of the message flailing in and out of the background. Twice The Doctor-10 was jolted, hopping into view.

"…don't know why this is happening or if there's some ulterior motive at work but, whatever it is, I doubt it can be good. These things can make you believe absolutely anything is happening to you. If they want to hurt you, it will hurt as much as the real thing. Your mind will turn on you and you will quite literally feel pain…"

"Oh no you _don't!_" The Doctor-10 took a run up and pelted into the bookcase.

"-ven knows what they could do to someone like you, so for pity's sake if you get this message and aren't already being savaged or something worse, _get out now_!"

Tiny spherical bots hovered onto the scene behind The Doctor-11 before The Doctor-10 raced in again, swatting at them with a rolled up magazine. "Don't you dare!"

Finally The Doctor-11 completed the message entry much to his own relief. He turned just in time to witness a tremendous crash as the bookcase flopped on top of his younger incarnation who disappeared under its bulk with a dismayed yelp. The Doctor-11 leapt to grab the case's side, straining to lift it.

The Doctor-10 groaned. "This better not be how I go. I will not be The Doctor that went 'death by bookshelf'."

"I told you to get away from this case!" The Doctor-11 snapped, voice growling with the effort.

"No you did not!" the trapped man retorted, shoving upwards at the weight. "You said there wasn't anything pushing it. Now do you believe me?"

The Doctor-11 snarled and budged the case a few inches further. "There _wasn't_ anything pushing it. It was all you! They got inside your head."

"You're telling me I pulled this bookcase on _myself_?"

"I'm telling you to get out from under this thing before I drop it!"

The Doctor-10 held his tongue and scrambled out and up to his feet. He twisted around, ready to save the barricade but The Doctor-11 had already let it fall, revealing the crowd of waiting simulations still in the ballroom scene. "Brilliant…"

"It doesn't matter," said The Doctor-11. "We need to get past them anyway. I think I've got a plan."

"Not another one."

"You can have the next one."

"Really?"

"Yes, but only if it's a good one."

"Rude and cheeky, you really must be my next in line."

The Doctor-11 stepped tentatively toward the mass of familiar females. He felt his hearts and stomach lurch at the sight of more than a few, taking extra care not to let his eyes linger. Time never completely healed wounds, especially for someone who did not perceive it in its natural sequence.

"Hello," he said, calmly but with enough volume for all of them to hear. "I understand you're all looking for a dance, maybe something else in the pipelines later on, who knows? We just wanted to make sure we were ready. Question is – are you lot? We can't very well dance with all of you at once, so we've agreed on what we think is the fairest means. Embracing an old British custom, it is the request of The Doctor and The Doctor that you all form an orderly _queue_ – wait a minute, wait a minute – form an orderly queue in order of who you think most deserves to be first in line. If you prefer one of us over the other, form a different line either side of the hall and work it out amongst yourselves. Ready? Go!"

To his surprise, the ploy worked. The ballroom erupted into chaos as pushing turned to shoving and cold discussion rose quickly to bickering. Several of the simulations milled about with indecision. It was a matter of seconds before the handbags, nails, Janis thorns and varying technological ages of guns were introduced to the squabble.

"Quick, get to the door," The Doctor-11 hissed to the younger Doctor. "If we both go at the same time it'll look suspicious and they might stop fighting. Don't argue."

Loath to follow orders, The Doctor-10 hesitated for half a beat before he strode quickly through the fray, ducking a shot of laser fire as he went. The Doctor-11 watched, preparing to follow, unaware that the stray bots that had previously drifted into the room were reconstituting behind him. He saw his other self opening the door at the far side, a door that looked as though it should open out onto a veranda beneath the Gallifreyan sky but instead broke the façade with a dull white hallway. The Doctor-11 stepped forward into the ballroom and felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. He turned instinctively; tried to pull back. Another hand twined through the back of his hair and before he could break free, soft lips were upon his.

Cries of outrage sprang from about the hall, particularly from the small group that had made an adamant choice to engage in an Eleventh-Doctor-specific brawl, one of whom he had realised as having long red hair and made a mental note to keep his distance. He wormed his way out of River's embrace as the wolves descended, spinning on his heel for the doorway.

"Aaaaah RUN!" The Doctor-11 shrieked before he hurtled across the hall and out into the corridor. He slammed the door shut as his other self looked on, fumbling with an inside pocket that was determined not to exist. At last he pulled out his sonic screwdriver and, blinking profusely, aimed it at the locking mechanism.

"What on Earth's that?" The Doctor-10 spluttered.

"It's my screwdriver!"

"What have you done to it? It's not even blue!"

"It doesn't have to be blue!"

"But look at the size of it – you could put someone's eye out with that!"

"Can we please not do this _now_!" The Doctor-11 yapped with reproach. "I can't – I'm nearly – there. It's not deadlocked. Small mercy." He gasped in the extra breaths he sorely needed and staggered into the opposite wall, grateful for its support. "Really… need to confiscate that woman's lipstick…" He let his head loll back against the wall, not bothering to reach for the hologram hat this dislodged.

"Was that why you stayed behind?" The Doctor-10 scowled. "One last bit of cheap, stolen excitement? At least it was your wife this time."

"Oh shut up. In a moment you're going to wish it hadn't been." The Doctor-11 rubbed his eyes and blinked again. He grimaced and shook his head.

"Something's wrong." The Doctor-10's expression shifted to one of urgency. "What happened? Tell me what's wrong."

The Doctor-11 let out a bitter laugh. "You wanted the chance to have a good idea. Now you're going to need one." His younger self stared at him, horrified, furious at being so helpless when the answer was still waiting. Head swimming, he slumped lower, his vision blurring.

"I think I've been poisoned," said The Doctor-11, and collapsed.


	11. Chapter 11

Rory considered universal advice as he braced the door against a swarm of future ball-bearings that believed they were his wife. The Doctor needed to include in his rules – if he hadn't already – 'Never say yes when The Doctor comes up with an idea for a really fun day out'. He didn't care what The Doctor said about curses, if one could actually exist, The Doctor definitely had one. Or six. Needless to say, the simulations hadn't taken kindly to his desire to leave. The one that had taken Amy's form had yelled and sobbed so fiercely he had almost been persuaded to stay and console her. And the other …

Hearing the thumping of Amy's fists cease, pure instinct drove Rory to dive away from the door as a hole blasted through its middle. He glanced back in horror at the steaming green gloop that dripped from the wound. "This is why cartoon characters shouldn't be attractive," he deplored, and ran. Bolting down the corridor that he hoped was the one The Doctor had asked him to reach, he very nearly tripped headlong over two figures in his path

"Doctor!" he blurted, goggling at The Doctor-10 who was crouched over his other self, Rory's Doctor. "Plural…" he murmured before taking in the situation. "What happened? Is he okay?"

"I don't know!" The Doctor-10 cried, teeth gnashing in desperation, hands tapping at The Doctor-11's unconscious face. "He said he was poisoned. The messages transmitted into his brain from the simulations told him what had been done to him and his body's reacting accordingly, but I don't know what messages they sent. I'm trying to work out the symptoms, to see if it's something I can fight, but he's not even coming up with a fever. Come on, wake up, you old baby, and give me _something_!"

At the next tap of The Doctor-10's hand on the fainted timelord's face, The Doctor-11 sat up so fast he sent his younger self sprawling. "Well, the good news is, I'm not poisoned!" he announced, as though he had not been comatose seconds earlier.

"And the bad news?" Rory sought it out reluctantly.

"Oh, Rory! Hello, Rory," The Doctor-11 exclaimed happily. "You got out safely then, I see." He did not look at his friend, staring at the wall in front of him. "Or rather I don't see. That's the bad news. I appear to be suffering a case of total blindness. I'm assuming that you got out unscathed." A frown crossed his features and he inclined his head in the vague direction of The Doctor-10. "Did you just call me an 'old _baby_'?"

The Doctor-10 resumed his crouching position beside The Doctor-11. "Can we please focus on the fact that you've been blinded? Definitely some sort of psycho-toxin targeting the optic nerves, but I don't think it's stopping there." He brought out his spectacles and put them on.

"I mean, that doesn't even make any sense," The Doctor-11 grumbled. "How can a baby be old? Unless you're Benjamin Button, of course. Ah, Benjamin," he sighed, nostalgically. "That was a sob-fest, wasn' it? Two whole boxes of tissues. What other babies are old? Ooh, there's the people of the Ylyngarian galaxy. Don't break out of their eggs for two hundred years at least. They're very old babies." He carried on babbling whilst his younger self peered into his sightless eyes and laid the back of a hand to his forehead. He did not break off even when The Doctor-10 tested his reflexes, bending his arm at the elbow, tapping his knee, turning his head this way and that. What did stop him, however, was the pressure of a stethoscope-bell as it was slid inside his shirt. "Agh! _Cold!_" he yelled.

The Doctor-10 concentrated, moving the metal disc from one side of The Doctor-11's chest to the other. He frowned momentarily, took in a sharp breath, and then withdrew.

"What?" The Doctor-11 asked.

"Nothing," The Doctor-10 said quickly. "You're fine. Both hearts working fine. A little faster in rate, compensating for whatever the toxin's doing to your system but there's no danger."

"You've got a look on your face."

"What look? How do you know what look I've got? You can't _see_."

"You gasped. That means you've got a look. I don't 'ave to see, I just know. What's wrong?"

The Doctor-10 gave a relenting sniff. "Honestly, nothing. A memory. One I shouldn't have because it hasn't happened yet. Anyway, now that you've stopped jabbering on – how are you feeling?"

"Mild dizziness, mostly got my co-ordination though it may be a little off. Slight case of dehydration, bit of a rushing sensation around the eyes and – oh." He stuck out his tongue. "Wha' colour ith it?"

The Doctor-10 squinted. " Normal, no, no, wait. There's some tiny blue spots in the middle…"

"'lue spotsth!" The Doctor-11 repeated, as enthused as though he'd won the lottery. He retracted his tongue. "Okay, great, now we know what it is. Should be much easier now." Getting to his feet, he licked his finger, held it up in the air to attain some sense of direction, turned on his heel and walked into a wall.

Rory caught him before he could fall. "Whoah, easy. Okay, so what does it mean? Is he going to be all right?" He asked the other Doctor. "I'm a nurse and I don't have a clue what this is."

The Doctor-10 rose and took off his stethoscope. "It means he should get back in the TARDIS and rest. He's been contaminated with extract from the black salamander root."

"But it means the blindness is only temporary!" The Doctor-11 said brightly.

"Blimey. How long's the optimism last?"

Rory shook his head. "No, that's just him."

"I reckon I've got about an hour before the raging hallucinations kick in. Except, bearing in mind my metabolism, better make that twenty minutes. Not to worry. Can't be much worse than the aftermath of a proper human stag party, eh, Rory?" The Doctor-11 groped the air for a few seconds before he found his friend's back to pat.

"Um… 'raging hallucinations'?" Rory held up his hands, pleading for a solution.

"We need to get out," The Doctor-10 said, sternly. "Back to the TARDIS, anyway we can."

"What about -," Rory had to hesitate, "Captain Jack? Can I just call him Jack? It's getting a bit weird. Hard to take him seriously."

"That's not necessarily attributing to his name -," The Doctor-11 murmured.

The Doctor-10 frowned. "What's wrong with calling him – oh wait, I see! 21st century Earth, Pirates of the Caribbean! _Honestly_, he's not the _only_ Captain Jack. He's certainly not the first. Although, he really is _ very_ good. Good ol' Sir Johnny." He beamed. "Anyway, I'm sure he'll be fine by himself, our Jack. We left him a message. He'll turn up sooner or later."

Rory's look of disapproval could have uprooted a sheepish mountain. "What? So we're just going to leave him?"

"Rory…" said The Doctor-11. "Jack's not like other humans. I'll explain it to you later, but the crux of it is that he can't actually die. Or at least, when he does, he doesn't stay that way. If the simulations in his room turn nasty, he fares a better chance than any of us."

"And on that basis he can just suffer for as long as it takes us to work out the problem?" Rory retorted. "We have an immortal person on our side and we're leaving him _because he's immortal_, which also brings me to - _thanks_. Thanks for not telling me that these things can actually kill us. Might've been useful to know, being that they aren't real in the first place so it's not natural to assume they're properly dangerous." He glowered at The Doctor-11. "All those times you've shown us the power of belief – remembering you, breaking Amy's faith, that…that _Tenza_ and his nightmares. Can't we just _know _these aren't real and ignore them?"

"These are computer programmes, Rory. You can think all you like at them but it won't change their purpose. Our beliefs are not our friends here. The projectrons – the simulating little robots – can turn your thoughts against you. If they want to hurt us, all they have to do is make us believe we are hurt and our minds will do the rest. You can't even fight it. As soon as a message is sent to your brain, it accepts that message as cold fact and reacts. I am blind because my eyes are certain they can't see, no matter what I might have to say about it."

"I still don't understand why you, of anyone, would leave someone behind."

The Doctor-10's response was curt. "Look, I think dealing with what's happening to him, _me_, is a little higher on the priority list right now. We won't get anywhere fast while we've got to watch an invalid."

"Oi!"

Rory persisted. "But if this isn't about physical symptoms, what happens if something _does_ happen to Jack? What happens if he gets signals to his brain telling him he _can_ die?"

"He's a fixed point in time," The Doctor-10 disputed. "He literally can't stop existing, ever, unless the point drifts so far it finally breaks down, or the energies holding him together are able to fade, which would take billions of years and that's just in _theory_, possibly proven theory. Clever computer programmes can't change that."

The Doctor-11 drew out his next utterance. "Oh…"

"What?" The Doctor-10 asked.

"They may not be able to change the code writing Jack continually into the universe, but that doesn't stop him feeling whatever the simulations choose to inflict upon him and simulations won't get bored. If he gets trapped -."

"They could harm him indefinitely, no respite and no escape." The Doctor-10 groaned.

"And of course there's the possibility that if he's convinced he's been dealt fatal damage, his body might continue to believe the lie when he returns from death -."

" – leaving him in a potentially permanent vegetative state. All right, all right! We'll rescue Jack first, but we need to hurry." The Doctor-10 regarded the blind timelord. "And you'll recover a lot faster if you close your eyes. Don't keep blinking. There's a memory for you. Don't blink."

The Doctor-11 curled his lip. "Oh, very funny."

"No, really, I mean it. You'll still be processing all this visual information whether you can see it or not. You need… hang on -." The Doctor-10 drew his sonic and broke the signal of The Doctor-11's hologram clothing, restoring him to his normal ensemble. He stepped up to The Doctor-11 and pulled his bowtie loose. "Just stand still," he instructed before there could be any protest. He whipped off the length of fabric, stepped around behind his older self and blindfolded him. "There we go. Prolonged impairment and crimes against fashion averted." With a grin, The Doctor-10 zapped himself with his sonic and revealed his pinstripe-and-longcoat attire.

"What -?" Rory started, boggling.

"Hologram clothes," The Doctor-10 explained. "All the rage in the 24th century. The practical addition to any wardrobe. Or the lazy addition. Tons of fun, though. Come on then, cripple. Should be this way to Jack's room." He slapped his older self on the shoulder, hard enough for The Doctor-11 to flinch, and walked ahead.

Rory looked to The Doctor-11 with sympathy. "Do you need any help?"

"Nah," was the reply. "I'll be fine. Don't you worry about me." He checked the position of his bowtie and started to walk forward. "Actually…" he said, pausing in his stride. "If you could just point me in the right direction, I should manage from there."

A few moments later saw them catching up with The Doctor-10. He was standing outside the entrance to Jack's room, staring at the curve of the corridor. "Stay where you are," he warned, not turning. "Stay absolutely still."

"Doctor," Rory whispered to The Doctor-11. "Is he talking to us?"

"How am _I_ supposed to know?" The Doctor-11 hissed back, jabbing a finger emphatically at his blindfold.

"Sorry."

In answer to their question, The Doctor-10 greeted whoever was around the corner with a welcoming disposition. "Hello."

"Where is he?" a young female voice, most definitely Scottish, demanded.

"Where's who?"

"My husband."

"Sorry," said The Doctor-10. "Have we met? Give us a clue. If you tell me who your husband is and what you want with him, perhaps I can help."

Another woman scoffed, annoyed. "Duh, she means Rory Williams. You better tell us where he's hiding, or -."

"Wait-wait-wait, just hold on, just one moment!" The Doctor-10 put up his hands to defuse the urgency. "Your husband? But that means -." A grin spread across his face. "Ohhh, you're Amy, aren't you? Hello, Amy, great to meet you! Pleasure, honestly. Even if you aren't actually the real Amy and you're just a cloud of fizzling information. Oh you are gorgeous, and more specifically _ginger_. Good ol' Rory."

"He's standing right around the corner, isn't he?" Amy arched an eyebrow, arms folding.

"No," The Doctor-10 said quickly. "No, no, he's not. Course he's not. Anyway, what are you doing outside Rory's room? I thought this corridor would be off limits." He looked to the other female. "Hang on, aren't you -? No. No, you couldn't be. Well, I suppose you could be. Are you? You're that green girl from that cartoon. Hold on, what was it? Kim Possible!"

The Doctor-11 pulled a face. "_Shego_?"

Rory was glad that the timelord was unable to see his expression. "How do you even know who that is?" he muttered.

The curvaceous girl in the bright-green-and- black leotard glowered at The Doctor-10, her black lips turning increasingly mean. A green glow began to cultivate in her right palm. He took a step back, not taking his eyes off her for a second.

"With no admittance that he is in fact anywhere near me, Mr Williams, get ready to run. I'm sorry, I really am, but we're gonna have to. Your next question is going to concern the other me, but just listen, because they're not after him, they're after you and I'm not leaving you to run alone. As soon as I say so, we go, no arguing."

"He's right, Rory," The Doctor-11 admitted quietly. "You have to go. I can't run, I'll slow you down. I'll be all right, but you have to run."

Rory shook his head, another communication that would go unseen. He was desperate to speak, yet somehow he refrained and looked hopelessly to The Doctor-10. "Run!" came the order, and despite how loath he was to do so, he was fleeing alongside the younger Doctor, doing his best to match pace with a man with so much practise.

The Doctor-11 waited in darkness, feeling his hearts still racing from the cruel substance his body thought it had ingested. He felt a rush of air as someone – he assumed the two-dimensional woman – raced past him in pursuit of the other Doctor and Rory. Slower footsteps approached, seemed to be moving past him, but his hearing had not failed him yet. His skin prickled. He could _feel _the simulation had stopped parallel with him in the corridor.

"I can't help you," he said to the watching Amy. "Look at me, I'm blind. I cannot help you find Rory, and if you try to use me to get at him, the other me won't let it work. Very soon I won't be of any use at all, so be a good girl. Run along, Pond." The ensuing quietness was so thick he thought he could almost hear the tiny machines processing his words. He tensed, preparing for anything untoward, and then he heard her leave.

The Doctor-11 exhaled his relief. He collected his thoughts and then carefully laid a hand on the corridor wall. Sliding his palm along, he picked his way in the direction of Jack's room. Once the cold metal surface could be felt beneath his fingertips, he scratched at his face pensively. Every ounce of his moral fibre was shouting at him to go inside, to be the hero that Jack had always believed him to be. Every other instinct was crying for the opposite. This was _Jack_, 51st century human with an omnisexual outlook, for him to greet was to flirt – at least it had been. The Doctor-11 had noticed the ex-time agent's lack of audacity, however small. Even so, to walk among the private fantasies of this man would probably have been somewhere on his list of nightmares, right down there with the embarrassing ones like teleporting naked onto old Skaro in front of a thousand Daleks. At least he hoped that had been a nightmare and not an unfortunate future glimpse after a head-clash with River. It wasn't just the idea that he might experience something unpleasant in this room – he'd lived a long time and seen a great many things he would rather have scoured from his brain – but that same old fear ever since Rose Tyler had become the Bad Wolf and done the impossible. Jack Harkness made him want to run and never look back. He was a defiant, gleaming fact that should never have been, as terrifying to a timelord as the Untempered Schism.

And The Doctor-11 was about to go in completely blind. Maybe that was a good thing.

Bringing out his screwdriver, The Doctor-11 patted to the side of the door until he found the access panel. He aimed the humming device at it, satisfied that not everything was deadlocked. The door gave a clunk and slid open. He chewed thin air for an uncomfortable moment and then stepped through.

The first thing to hit The Doctor-11's senses was an alarmingly loud introduction to club music. It boomed on a loop, the vibrations of the bass rattling his skull and causing his steps to teeter. All around he could feel people moving, dancing, the air clogged with myriad scents: humans, other aliens, liquor, sweet altered pheromones that attacked his nose and tingled in his blood. Bodies, warm and not always fully-dressed, brushed past him. Voices giggled and whispered. He ignored them and pushed onward, neither knowing where he was going nor daring to stop. "Not much different from the ballroom, when you think about it," he mumbled to himself. It wasn't long before he bumped into someone that did not move from his path.

"Sorry," he called above the noise. "Please excuse me!"

"Well, this is a new one," the obstruction replied, surprisingly easy to hear despite the din. "You've got your screwdriver out already and I haven't even had time to buy you a drink."

The Doctor-11 swallowed, his fingers twitching awkwardly, conscious of people still bumping past him on the dance-floor. "Jack. You're all right?" It was as though their conversation were filtering through a bubble, allowing them to be heard.

"Oh yeah," Jack exclaimed, "and the way I see it, things are even more all right than they were before. I've not had much opportunity to contemplate the possibilities but I have to say, this new you looks good in submission."

"Before you go any further with that train of thought, Jack, I'm not a simulation. I'm real. Real Doctor." He zapped himself ineffectually with the sonic. "See?"

"And what's that s'posed to prove? That could just be a simulated sonic. Also, the blindfold? If you were avoiding unwanted visuals, you'd only need to close your eyes, and even then I can't see you as being _that_ naïve." Jack stepped closer. "You've been around a long time. I don't see you throwin' around illusions of innocence."

"I'll explain the blindfold later, just please believe me. _Trust me_. I'm really, truly, me. I thought you were in danger so I came to find you. Rory and the other me are a bit preoccupied, so if it's not too much trouble, I need your help."

Jack laughed. "You came to save me? I'm touched. Gotta be a first. You're already over six months late."

The Doctor-11 frowned, a sickening pang rising in his stomach. "Six months? What do you mean six months?" Though he had a terrible feeling he knew.

"I mean, Doctor, shut up and dance." Jack darted forward and grabbed The Doctor-11 by the braces, snatching handfuls of his shirt to gain a better hold. He spun the timelord out amongst the writhing masses and then held him tight about the waist in waltz fashion, no heed to the pounding club hum.

"No, no, no, don't!" The Doctor-11 blurted, twisting in his grip. "Jack Harkness, listen to me!" He felt the immortal human's hands _squeeze_. If that wasn't enough to drive the message home, he heard laughter erupt from all around the nightclub. "Ohhh, Jack-Jack-Jack, Jackety-Jack," The Doctor-11 growled to curb his embarrassment. "Trust you to shape a fantasy of _yourself_." He twirled the sonic screwdriver in the hand Jack was holding aloft and sent a stream of green light into his face.

Jack's image burst apart, and The Doctor-11 heard hell break loose. Hands grabbed for him, dancers shrieked and cried out for him to be seized. He ran, powerless to know where he was going. "Jack!" he yelled, this time calling for the real man. "Jack, where are you?" He kept his thumb jammed onto the disrupting control and waved his sonic frantically, dissipating anything that grabbed at him. "Jack! It's The Doctor! Shout if you can hear me!"

Someone tripped him. He sprawled across the floor. Scrabbling to get up he felt someone kick his screwdriver from his hand. "No! No-no-no! I need that!" He crawled through the fray, one hand over his head to protect himself from being stepped upon, the other desperately pawing in between simulated feet to find his weapon. Hands clasped at his shoulders, tugged at his jacket, trying to haul him upright. Then he found himself pulled forward suddenly, out of the reaches of the crowd.

"Come with me," said a hurried voice. "Quickly, I have to get you out of here."

Warily, The Doctor-11 let himself be tugged along. His rescuer had a familiar accent. He knew this man, but his head was beginning to fill with cotton wool and he couldn't be sure.

"You're here to help Jack?" the man asked, pushing him onward.

"Yes, that's the general idea. I don't think it's going very well to be perfectly frank."

"Yeah, well, can't be helped. Probably to be expected if you're blind. Okay, we're here. There's a door here, right here, feel it with your hand?"

"Yes."

"Jack's through there. Mind out though, he's in a bit of a stick. Can't do any more but I can try and hold this lot off."

The Doctor-11 stared blankly at the man beside him through thick fabric of his bowtie, wishing he could see his face. He was certain now. "Why are you helping me?" he wondered softly. "You're just a computer programme, like them."

The man gave a gentle laugh. "Perhaps you should get to know Jack better. What reason does he have to imagine me any different?"

"I wish I'd known _you_ better," The Doctor-11 replied sadly. He grasped the door handle and pushed through. As soon as it was shut behind him he heard the cries of outrage from the club. He leapt away from the door before they could convince him it could be opened and moved deeper into what must have been Jack's first chamber. The Doctor-11 had only taken a few steps before the screams started. He wanted to run to the rescue. A generation ago he probably would have, burst in blindly, literally. Instead he forced himself to creep around the edges of a room he could not see and would have likely cursed Jack if he could.

Laughter succeeded the screams and The Doctor-11 flinched, dread seeping through his core. It was the same laughter that had flashed in his mind out on the Ood-Sphere, when he had sat with the Elder so many years ago. _Oh, Jack. How could you_? He edged further along, oblivious to how exposed he might be to the room's occupants. He heard Jack scream again and it turned into broken, brave laughter.

"That all you got?" he shouted. "You're a lot tamer than I remember."

"That's because, this time Jack, I actually give a monkeys about who you are. I only ever wanted to get at him, and you were just a nuisance, a plaything I could kill over and over and _over_ when I got bored, when I wanted to do it to him but didn't. Now I'm back, a warped figment of your imagination, just for you: your guilty secret. I wonder what he'd say if he were here, if he could see you and your naughty mind, one of his sweet little humans. You and I know the truth, though, don't we, Jack? You're all flawed and filthy. You should all be put down like the wretched hounds you are, but _oh no_, poor you! No dying for you! Bad dog." The Master – who else? – stamped on something wooden, a table perhaps? "But hark! What sound from yonder shadow breaks? Do you want to know what The Doctor would say? Why don't we ask him?"

The Doctor-11 froze.

"Whatever he says, it doesn't matter," Jack sneered. "I know he's not the real Doctor."

"Welllll," said a voice that made one of The Doctor-11's hearts trip. "_I_ might not be. "But _he_ is." Wheels trundled along the wooden floor. Everything else appeared to have fallen poignantly silent.

"Doctor?" Jack choked eventually. "Is that you?"

The Doctor-11 winced, facing the main deck of the_ Valiant_ and the horrors therein. Utterly sure he had been discovered; he fumbled for something incredibly clever and useful to say. He came up with –

"Oops."


	12. Chapter 12

Rory thought his sides might split open if he had to keep running at the same pace The Doctor-10 was setting. It was still barely enough to stay ahead of the irate supervillain racing in pursuit. The simulation of Amy had lagged behind but he was pretty sure he could hear her footsteps thumping out of sync with the rest.

"We can't…keep running…" he gasped out.

"I know," was The Doctor-10's urgent reply, his overcoat whipping out behind him. The degree of grandeur this version of his friend portrayed gave Rory an awful sting of inadequacy.

"They don't get tired! There has to be somewhere we can hide."

"Yes, well, it would help if there were any doors in this corridor! There should be practically acres of room here and all it is is just walls, walls, walls!"

His wish granted, a hotel floor's worth of doors appeared in the curving passageway, as though they had been carved into the wall like patterns on fruit. A good half-dozen of them opened at once.

"Ohh," The Doctor-10 groaned, skidding to a temporary halt. "You know, if it wasn't for the fact that it can be incredibly useful, I'd say I should really learn to stop talking."

Rory slowed. "What? Isn't this what we wanted?"

Eyes fixated upon the open doors, The Doctor-10 sighed. "Of course it is. It's exactly what we want, which means the contents of the rooms will try to do the same. Only, we know it's all too good to be true, don't we?"

Noticing a distinct lack of being melted by green goo, Rory looked back down the corridor. "What happened to the ones chasing us?"

"I expect the programme has changed or we got out of that one's range. Whatever's waiting for us up ahead, we need to keep moving. Don't look at anything, anyone, just keep walking. If we follow the path it should loop back 'round and we can find the others. Then I can ask the other me what in blazes this thing is." He pulled out a dark purple disc the size of a plate from his trouser pocket, much to Rory's astonishment.

"Oh," said Rory, deciding it wasn't the time to ask how it had managed to fit. "That, er, I don't know. The Doctor, the other one, asked me to fetch it from the TARDIS. Then I bumped into you and -."

"I asked what it was, not its life story," The Doctor-10 interjected, before pulling back on himself. "Sorry. Rude again. Sorry, I just don't like not knowing things. Learning's a fine thing, but when it's something I'm going to know but haven't yet learned, especially if it's going to be helpful, it's like a big fat finger jabbing at me and laughing."

"I don't know what it is. He was just pretty insistent I didn't throw it about."

The Doctor-10 balanced the device on his fingertips and bounced it lightly in the air, nose wrinkling. "It's a Frisbee. Some sort of wiring inside, probably some snazzy L.E.D.'s to make it look unique, but it is, it's a Frisbee."

"I really don't think it is. Can't you use your sonic? Won't that _tell_ you what it does?"

"I don't need a sonic to tell me what this is. I'll prove it." The Doctor-10 placed his index finger and thumb in his mouth and made a sharp whistle. "Come on then, whoever's behind door number one!"

A slender figure in a generous, golden ballgown answered the summons. She stepped out into the centre of the passageway and smiled warmly at them. "There you are, my lonely angel," she announced.

"Er, who is that?" Rory found himself wracking his brains for any unintentional fantasies he might have had whilst watching BBC period dramas but was drawing blank.

"That, Rory, is Jeanne-Antoinette, or Reinette, Poisson, otherwise known as Madame De Pompadour. But, more importantly, she is now my nominated partner in sportswomanship." The Doctor-10 took a step back and flicked out his wrist, letting the purple disc fly straight down the corridor. He grinned oafishly as it sliced through the courtesan's image, shorting out the projectrons. "See! Frisbee!" He watched the disc descend quite suddenly, his gleeful expression breaking when he saw the device hit the floor with a dissatisfying _crunch_ whereupon it belched blue sparks. "Oooh." He winced. "Not a Frisbee? Perhaps… maybe not… possibly not a Frisbee…"

Adding to the awkwardness of the moment was the buzzing sound they heard before the projectrons reformed despite their disruption. Reinette scowled at The Doctor-10, hands on hips. "I don't like this game, Doctor. I should like to choose the next one." Her anger melted as swiftly as it had formed. She walked toward them, the jewels on her dress tinkling with each dainty step. "You've seen inside my mind, but you didn't peek within every door. Won't you look again?"

The Doctor-10 grimaced anxiously. "Sadly, Reinette, I rather think you've replaced all your doors with bay windows. I'm not a man to easily blush, but there's always that chance. Come on, Rory, time to go again." With no more than that, The Doctor-10 dashed past the regally-attired simulation, fortunate that it hampered her movement. Sure that the young human was following, he snatched up the fritzing not-Frisbee as he went, hissing in pain as it continued to spark and complain its injuries. "I know, I know, I'm sorry," he muttered soothingly to it. "Bit overzealous, just don't die on me before I find out what you do, give me that, please?"

They raced along the passage, keeping their eyes ahead as best they could in spite of the open and newly opening rooms. Voices called out, begging, beckoning, using siren tactics to sway their purpose. Unwittingly, Rory found himself glancing inside the next room he passed. Speaking of sirens…

Gleaming greenish-blue, the physician of the ship that had crashed temporally against that of Henry Avery's reached out for him. Bare toes hovering inches off brine-flecked boards, she sang longingly. At once, The Doctor-10 doubled back and slammed the door shut.

"What part of 'don't look at anything' is so hard to understand?" he scolded. If he had been angry, it did not have time to show. He gawped at the doorway opposite the one he was holding shut and proceeded to pull Rory onward, faster than before

"Oh my god," said Rory.

"Just keep going!" The Doctor-10 snapped.

Rory pointed back over his shoulder, not daring to look. "Was that Elizabeth the First…?"

"Shut up and keep going!"

"She was taking off her clothes!"

"Rory!" The Doctor-10 snarled, not quite so elegant now in his escape.

"But I thought the Dreamlord was just winding us up. He actually - _ you_ actually -?"

"Rory, drop it. Discussion over, never to resume."

"I wasn't planning on discussing it in any more detail," Rory mumbled, trailing off at the sight of another figure that had slid out in front of them and was now pointing a revolver at the timelord.

"Oh well that's fantastic, that is," The Doctor-10 said sulkily, his converse squeaking to an abrupt stop. "Just what I need: another ginger."

"I don't like people who shout at Captain Williams," the figure remarked, icily.

Both men held up their palms, The Doctor-10 more as a matter of surrender, Rory in an effort to calm the image of his wife. As was to be expected with her form of address, this Amy was clad in black with an equal-hued device sealing her right eye.

"Amy, just put down the gun," Rory pleaded.

She continued to glare at The Doctor-10. "He's in my way. He's always getting in our way. Anyway, I don't see the problem. He'll regenerate, yeah? Bring on that familiar face."

"Leave him alone," someone called from behind them.

The Doctor-10 rolled his eyes. "I'll tell you something, it's a jolly good thing I've got two hearts, isn' it? One decides to let you down with a brief trip to CardiacArrestland? Never mind! Can always rely on the other one!"

Amy snorted at the new female on the scene. "No offense, lady, but you don't strike me as anyone in the least bit scary. What are you, even? His mother? 'Cause I'm seriously hoping you're not going to tell me he's some weird alien toyboy of yours."

The woman's voice trembled with hate; vibrant and protective. "Shut your mouth, you silly girl and lower your weapon. I promise you won't live to regret it if you don't."

"Oh please," Amy scoffed. "You're not even armed."

"Don't," said The Doctor-10. "I know you're not real, but please don't."

"I don't need to be armed. I have my best friend."

"Stop," The Doctor-10 snapped. "Just stop. Leave us alone. Just-just stop it!"

Amy retrained the gun more firmly in line with The Doctor-10's head. "Oh yeah? Well can your best friend, wherever they are, stop me before I blast a hole in his skull?"

"_Affirmative, mistress_."

Red light seared through Amy's artificial frame. Creatures of instinct, both The Doctor-10 and Rory screamed a negative. Her one visible eye alight with the glimmer of an almost soul, Amy gasped and died.

* * *

><p>Wheelchair. The movements he had been forced to make by unkind hands had brought him into the object's grasp, hands and ankles bound in a cruelly nostalgic pose. The Doctor-11 had already surmised that the simulation of his previous incarnation would be no ally, not because it was a decrepit creature that actually needed the chair, more that he had heard it spring out of the vehicle in order to seize one of his arms and then listened to its subsequent giggling. It was one thing to hear yourself laughing, quite another that the laughter was aimed at you and anything but friendly. The chair, being the only thing his physical senses could experience at this juncture, occupied a thought pattern he was following in order to remain calm. How could he be sitting in a simulated chair? The furniture he had encountered before had been real but, aside from the complex being a great believer in accessibility, somehow he did not quite believe a wheelchair would have been provided without a request. But if it was simulated, how could it move with him inside? The obvious conclusion to The Doctor-11 was that it was at its heart some sort of trolley or similar transport that he merely <em>perceived<em> as a wheelchair – simulations built around a standard framework with a motor, responding to the whims of the ongoing programmes. _Brilliant. Though not so useful at this point in time._

His senses were overridden with the concept that someone else was removing his blindfold, but the reality that neither he nor Jack could see was that he had reached up and pulled it away himself. Billions of words and numbers whispering into his brain rendered his real bowtie invisible, replaced by the certainty of the one that was now in The Master's possession. Not that he could see it.

"There now, no sense in hiding away like the annoying little woodland creature you are," the voice of his rival jeered. "We're all adults here, or close enough. Why don't you explain to the 'Captain' why you felt the need to cover your eyes? Did you think you would blush?"

"You might call it respecting someone's privacy," The Doctor-11 said quietly.

Jack very nearly took to heart the lack of notice he was receiving from The Doctor-11, even though he had grown to expect it. However, he began to realise that this younger-looking incarnation was not even truly focusing on The Master either. When the Saxon-faced timelord moved, the answer was all too plain.

"Wait a moment!" The Master cried, though his over-enthusiastic tones proved he was merely indulging in old knowledge, an expert storyteller with a new audience. He waved his hands in front of The Doctor-11's face and gasped outrageously. "Well, poke me with a screwdriver, if he hasn't _actually_ gone blind! Dear, dear, Doctor, I've been warning you for years about that sort of behaviour. Is that why you got yourself a wife? Or was someone just being a big, stinking copycat after seeing my Lucy?" He grinned widely, scrunching up the unravelled bowtie and proceeding to roll its compacted form between his palms. "Oh this could be so much fun. Shame you can't admire the scenery. I did a smidge of redecorating, and not all of it on the room. Isn't that right, Jack-the-lad?"

Jack ignored the comment and strained to lift his head, his voice sharp as one tolerating several injuries. "What happened? Are the others okay?"

"Oh just a signal to my optic nerves telling them to take a holiday," The Doctor replied, contrastingly cheerful. "Sure they'll be along soon with a whole range of souvenirs, and as for your other question – depends if they ran fast enough; probably. Mind to the plusses, I've not faded out of existence, so either the other me's still going strong _or_ someone's mucking about with paradox machinery, which might explain why my memories aren't catching up, leaving a very real possibility that I could continue existing without him whilst I'm within range. Unpleasant theory, but there you have it."

"There's only one person I know that's ever made a paradox machine…" Jack griped.

"He's gone, Jack. In every sense of the word: gone. This is only an apparition of your mind turning on you by someone else's design."

"Yeah, well, a 'year of torture that never was' kinda makes a man think a little funny sometimes."

"Actually, he's been and gone twice," chirped the simulation in the longcoat. "He is rather clever like that."

The Doctor-11 turned his face toward the speaker, straining to see so much as a shadow through the haze of sightlessness. "I'm not going to ask why you're here, but I have to wonder why you're helping _him_." The inflection was enough.

"Oh, yes, hello. Sorry," said the fake Tenth Doctor, smugness glomped about his tone. "How rude of me not to explain. Not that it's much of a jump. You see, our dear Mr – Captain – Harkness, for want of a real name, has always been a bit of a cheeky boy…"

The Doctor-11 cut him off. "Skip to the end."

"Spoilsport. All right. In summary: I'm the product of Jack's imagination after seeing you, when you were me, cradling your dead Master, wondering what you might have been if you'd joined forces. I'm the afterthought when he saw the metacrisis atomise the Daleks and the result of watching you ascend when the human race restored you through the Archangel Network: The Doctor, supreme and glorified."

"Oh good for you," said The Doctor-11, suitably unimpressed.

"I'm also on-and-off involved with Jack _and_ The Master simultaneously -."

"Even better!" The Doctor-11 blurted, lest the simulation elaborate further. "I don't suppose this thing runs on automatic, does it? I have issues with sitting still for great lengths of time. In fact, I'd rather like to stretch my legs if it's not too much trouble. They're getting crampy."

Jack took the opportunity to cut in. "What did he mean 'been and gone twice'?"

"What do you think he meant, leadbrain?" The Master scoffed, tossing the crumple bowtie-ball into Harkness's face. "I came _back_, and now I'm back again. Ta-da!" Before Jack could pursue the line of inquiry, the suited timelord shushed him loudly. "No time to drag you along New Memory Lane, not when I can just show you." He gripped the arms of The Doctor-11's wheelchair, which also meant him pinching the younger-looking man's bound wrists, and stared into his unreciprocating gaze. "I'll show the both of you. See, I know about the poison of the black salamander root and by the dilation width of your pupils, Doctor, I reckon it's seconds before you join us in my domain. Shooting pains in the legs? That'll be the forgotten nerves waking up. Quick, we should think of something to do for when he gets it all back! Damn, if only I'd prepared!"

The simulation of The Doctor-10 snickered. "I can think of something we could be doing."

The Master chuckled deliciously but soon dismissed the offer. "No, no, we don't want him getting overexcited when he's souped up on salamander. Although the thought of watching him choke on his own tongue does lend a smack of satisfaction."

"I think being able to see Jack in his present state will be shock enough, don't you?" the false Doctor-10 grinned.

The Doctor-11 gave a half-hearted groan. "Really, Jack? Tell me you've got some manner of clothing on."

Jack laughed bitterly. "I can lie to you, Doctor, or I can count epidermal layers."

The Doctor-11 cried out then, but not from Jack's admittance of indecency. Colour burst within his eye sockets, dormant receptors waking up and panicking in a bid to make sense of the information that assaulted him from every direction. Light flickered like hard rain, slowly dissipating and drawing with it the lacerating pain of returning vision. He blinked and blinked, bringing the scene into gradual, reluctant focus. Awfully bright lighting made the process worse, the silvery overhead sheen of the _Valiant_'s inner roof reflecting upon The Master's filthily grinning face.

"Are you tuned in yet?" Harold Saxon prodded for attention. "Can you behold the Master Screen?" He stepped aside to allow his prisoner a better view.

Fingers clutching the arms of the chair, The Doctor-11 allowed his weary gaze a careful sweep of the room. It was almost exactly as he remembered: gleaming walls and polished wooden floor; staircase up to an observation deck; circular windows, and the great glass boardroom table. However, the showy elegance had long since left this replica. The smart, black office chairs were scattered haphazardly about, having made room for Captain Harkness to be strapped to the table-top. A disconcertingly familiar cage hung to the right of the stairs. Yet these revelations were less surprising to him than the sight of the paintings hanging on the wood panelling above the exits, each one (that he could see) detailing risqué images of The Master in biblical artistry. Patches of the floor had been painted over with murals of what could only have been snapshots from Jack's spontaneous daydreams. The Doctor-11 tried not to dwell on any of it, attempting to convince himself that when you'd seen one human, or indeed, alien body you'd seen them all no matter the angle, context or inventive use of everyday objects in the scenes. Glancing to the unwilling creator of the moment, The Doctor-11 almost warmed to the idea of studying the floor. He forced himself to look at Jack, in no light of mockery, but as a fellow creature in peril.

The ex-time agent lay upon the table, bare as a Christmas turkey, bound by thick strips of what appeared to be bubble-wrap. It pinned his arms, his ankles and for decency's sake, just below his hips. Perhaps some of the simulation censorship still remained. He returned The Doctor-11's stare, secretly relieved that the timelord was careful not to seem pitying or humbled by his condition. Nonetheless, he noticed the flicker of outrage in this new incarnation's eyes as they took in the markings on his skin.

"I've had worse days," Jack said, with an encouraging smile.

"How deep are those cuts?" The Doctor-11 gave both captors a solemn glare. "How far did you go?" He made a point of ignoring the red smears upon the glass. "You'd better answer me, this is important. I don't know what's been programmed into your corrupted software maps but if you have any intention whatsoever of keeping us alive, do not rely on this man's immortality."

Jack sought clarification. "Doctor?"

"I'm sorry, Jack, but you'll have to be extremely careful. Assuming you haven't experienced it already and thus proved my theory incorrect, you do not want to be killed within a simulated environment. I can't promise you your body will wake you up, even if it continues to physically exist."

"Ooh, I'll bet that's terribly comforting," Simulated Ten chuckled. "Welcome back to the mortal coil!"

The Master sighed. "Ohh, you're not going to start whingeing on as much as the last you, are you?" he said, addressing The Doctor-11. "I'm surprised I didn't cut your tongue out."

"Tongues do have their uses!" Simulated Ten chipped.

"He's fine," The Master answered, dismissively. "Bleeding him out is far too quiet an ending. Can we come back to the topic of me, please? I do so loathe my viewing figures failing."

The Doctor-11 raised an eyebrow at his counterfeit enemy. "I've said it before: I hate repeats."

"Fine words for a time traveller. Shall we just forget Earth World War 2? Anyway, Jack here hasn't seen this episode. It's all about how I came back and took over that miserable planet. Here's a sneak preview." The Master beamed smugly and spread his arms wide, closing his eyes as if preparing to regenerate. White blonde hair rippled across his head in place of the Saxon brown, his clothes flickered, glitching, until the suit was replaced with a black hoodie and jeans. With a satisfied gasp, The Master settled on his altered form, wiping stubble into existence upon his chin. "That's _much_ better."

"What is this?" Jack barked. "Doctor, he _died_. You burned his corpse to ash. Now you're telling me he came back?"

"He always came back," The Doctor-11 murmured. "Once upon a time."

"How -?"

"Later, Jack. Not now."

The Master pouted. "The Doctor has no time for Jack? I could cry. Two people with lifespans longer than most things could dare to dream, both of whom have used vortex transport, and still one of them can turn around and say 'sorry, old chum, just don't have room on my schedule!' I think Jack deserves some answers, but not from your stupid face. You'd only mess up the storytelling. In fact…" He darted for The Doctor-11 with superhuman speed and crouched before him, fingernails digging into the trapped timelord's wrists, wild brown eyes screaming up at startled green. "All this excitement is making me so very, _very_ hungry. If I'm going to take the time to weave out an epic for my dear Captain, it just wouldn't do to attempt it on an empty stomach, would it, Doctor?"

The Doctor-11 swallowed. "I can point you in the direction of a room full of Jammie Dodgers."

The Master laughed sharply enough for The Doctor-11 to flinch. Or it was due to the increased pressure of The Master's nails. "Oh no, no, that won't do at all. There's no sustenance, no warmth, no sinew to gnaw, no curdling blood to taste, no pure, savoury _life_; succulent, quenching _life_, Doctor. There is no life in biscuits."

On the verge of finding a reply that might defend the tea-complimenting snack, The Doctor-11's lips parted and wavered. Words were frightened off like lesser wildlife as The Master gave a feral snarl and brought himself level with The Doctor-11's face. He drew back, readying to strike.

"Doctor!" Jack yelled.

Before The Master's intentions could be carried out, the far door burst open. Two figures rushed in, panting with the exertion of escape, the taller of them standing forward in protective stance.

"Did anyone order a double shot of sonic screwdriver?" The Doctor-10 clamoured, brandishing both green and blue devices.

The Master shot to his feet and turned to face the intruders. "You!" he growled.

"What?" The Doctor-10 uttered. "Hold on… _you?_"

"Me!" Simulated Ten cried with a little too much delight.

The Doctor-10's confusion worsened. "What?"

"Oh, bravo," The Doctor-11 exclaimed, his voice shrill with peculiar merriment. "Never would I have expected _that_ in a million years! A rescue from a bipedal horse and a talking ferret! I am loving it! Though if you wouldn't mind hurrying up a bit, I think my shoes are turning into turnips…"

The rest of those aboard the simulated _Valiant_ joined The Doctor-10 in chorus.

"_What?_"


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:******_Eesh. This chapter's a tad insane with action. Hopefully it's not too manic for your reading delight. Things should calm down by next chappie. As much as they can for a Doctah in danger!_

* * *

><p>"O-kay," said The Doctor-10 within the momentarily afforded pause, "I think if we all just remain very calm we can work things out."<p>

"Calm, yes. Good thinking, Mr Ferret."

The Doctor-10 glared at The Doctor-11. "You, stop talking. There's nothing useful you can add to this situation while you're hallucinating."

"Hallucinating?" Simulated Ten parroted. "Brilliant! He must be having a whale of a time!"

"As am I," the man with the white-blonde hair sneered. "Three Doctors of my own. Is it my birthday already?"

"You," The Doctor-10 pointed his own blue sonic at him, "are impossible. No, sorry, that's too flattering. You're broken. Simulation corruption. Might want to cross-reference the data for the hair and the overly casual clothing."

Rory kept his gaze switching around the room, lingering least upon Jack after his initial gasp of horror – less from the Captain's state of undress than the red, welted word 'Mine' that had been scrawled all over his exposed skin. "Doctor, who is he?"

"A dead man."

"Certain he's not real?"

The Doctor-10 nodded. "Must be. Extracted from memories and rebuilt with a distorted image, most likely on account of the treatment of the dreamer. Ohhh Jack, why him?"

The Master grinned. "Where's your renowned compassion, Doctor? He's only human. As for your claims of flawed projection, I reject them. I am not mapped solely from that mutation of TARDIS energy."

"Don't talk rubbish. Where else could you get the information for -?" The Doctor-10 trailed off, following The Master's stare to the man in the wheelchair. "No. You _died_. I held you in my arms and you let yourself die!"

"He came back," said Jack. "Older you said he came back."

"You already suspected," The Master snorted. "All those little glimpses you got when you crashed skulls with your future self. You saw _me_."

Once more The Doctor-10 found himself turning vehement eyes upon The Doctor-11. "How? When?"

The Master put a finger to his lips. "Spoilers."

As The Doctor-11 flinched at the word, there came a loud, exaggerated yawn from across the hall.

"Sorry," Simulated Ten blurted. "Not that I don't love a bit of a chat, bit of a ramble, bit of a circumlocutory, loquacious spew of continuous nonsense because, let's face it, that's all part of being The Doctor – but all this…timey…wimey boring exposition isn't exactly getting us anywhere, is it? We're not here to solve all your problems in the universe out there. We're here strictly at your pleasure. You want information, try a library. Ooh, I know. There's this planet I highly recommend -."

The Doctor-11 snarled suddenly, "If you're here at our pleasure then it's my strongest desire right now that you _get out_. I don't know who the hell thinks they're playing with me but it stops here. You've had your fun, but now I'm getting angry and if you know anything at all about me then you'll know here is where you should be very, _very_ careful. Back off and let us go."

Simulated Ten giggled. "Struck a nerve there, didn't I? Good work on the threat, though I have to say, might be a little more intimidating if you weren't shouting at the wall."

"Shut up," The Doctor-10 snapped. He stepped further into the room, keeping the two sonic screwdrivers aimed at the simulations. "Rory, go get other me and wheel him back here. Any movement from those two and they'll find themselves rapidly dispersed."

Rory obeyed, creeping over to The Doctor-11, making sure to keep as much distance from the artificial stranger as possible. He reached out and grabbed the handles of the wheelchair then cast a glance over his shoulder at the sealed doorway behind them. In his forethought to check for an ambush, he caught sight of the painting The Doctor-11 had not seen.

"Oh, guhh – um, Doctor, have you seen the picture behind us? Don't look, just, if you haven't, best if you don't."

The Doctor-11 sighed. "Rory, it's just a painting, and not even a real one. Ignore it."

"Right," Rory replied, beginning to drag the chair. "I'll just… spend the next week trying to unsee it."

Curiosity and The Master's curling lip forced The Doctor-11 to relent and turn his head. "What -?" A small gasp escaped his throat, followed by a constrained utterance. "Gosh, that's inventive."

Unable to resist, The Doctor-10 looked up. His face contorted with disgust. "Ohh, _Jack!_"

It was all the distraction the simulations needed. The Master roared, blue energy crackling at his fingertips. Before The Doctor-10 could zap him, a glowing aura rippled around his simulated copy. An invisible force yanked both sonics out of his hands. With horror, he observed Simulated Ten rise from the floor in a blaze of light. The Doctor-11 snapped to attention, and saw The Master.

"Rory, duck! Now!"

Electricity burst from The Master's palms, his eyes burning anime white. When Rory dropped behind the wheelchair for cover, the simulated timelord snarled and drew his hands downward, aiming instead for the chair's occupant. The Doctor-11 yelled in silence as the stream of energy coursed into him. His attacker was not allowed the satisfaction for long, however. Having borrowed time to tear free of his restraints, Jack leapt upon The Master and broke the energy flow.

"Doctor!" Rory scrambled up and set about removing The Doctor-11's bonds. The nurse in him had made to check the timelord's vital signs but it seemed The Doctor-11 was well enough to bat his hands aside. Not that Rory would have had a clue how to determine irregularities in a binary vascular system. He stepped back to allow The Doctor-11 to get out of the chair and turned toward the exit. Rory's jaw dropped at the sight of the deadly, angelic form of Simulated Ten. "Doctor, by any chance are your hallucinations somehow contagious?"

The Doctor-11 steadied himself, pushing past the earlier belief that his feet were jammed within garden vegetables. "No. Why?"

Rory pointed. "I don't think he should be flying."

"Ah," said The Doctor-11.

Sure enough, The Doctor-10 was being chased back and forth across the width of the room by his simulated self, who was soaring in pursuit as though he wore an invisible jet-pack. The Doctor-11 wrung his hands with anxiety, his gaze darting from his younger self to Jack, who, to his credit, was doing a sterling job of pressing The Master's face into the floor whilst in the buff.

"That's really not very good at all, erm," he ran a hand through his hair, "Rory, would you just go and distract 'flying me' for a moment? Won't be a tick, something needs sorting out."

"What? But… how?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something. I have every faith in you." Not waiting for any further remark, The Doctor-11 rushed off toward the _Valiant_'s flight deck.

"Right…" Rory winced. "Something. Do… something." He hurried over to the end of the room where the two tenth incarnations of The Doctor were in confrontation and shifted around behind the airborne figure. "Erm, excuse me…" he began, a little too quietly. He tried again. "Oi! Mr Floaty Doctor… man!"

The Doctor-10 shouted urgently past Simulated Ten. "Rory, what are you doing? Get away, he's dangerous! You don't know what he's capable of!"

Simulated Ten grinned. "Oh, what? You mean something like this?" He waved a hand and The Doctor-10 was flung through the air, back smacking into the wall. The Doctor-10 gave a guttural cry and slid back down to floor level, bashing his elbow on a fire extinguisher as he fell.

"Gahhh… of all the me's to fantasize into existence," he groaned, then curled his lip in consideration. "Well, all-powerful… god-like … the power to move anything with the merest thought. Makes sense, I suppose."

Chuckling, Simulated Ten hooked his fingertips in the air and twisted his wrist, pulling The Doctor-10 toward the middle of the room with invisible strings. He smirked at Rory and clawed his other hand, claiming another puppet. With a sharp clap, he brought the human and the timelord crashing together.

"Sorry!" The Doctor-10 cried, moments before they were thrown apart, slammed onto the floor and made to spin in circles.

Meanwhile, The Doctor-11 frantically jabbed at buttons on a control panel he had located at the top of the stairs. Beyond the windows of the flight deck, he could see clouds and sky miles above the Skagerrak strait. The illusion was perfect. Seeking to create one himself, the currently bowtie-less timelord's fingers danced across the touch-screen. Managing to isolate Jack with a remote holographic beam, he downloaded an exact replica of the Captain's clothes.

"Ahh, that's more like it," Jack exclaimed, hauling The Master to his feet by his hood. "Come on, trouble."

The Master growled. "Oh, I'm really going to enjoy getting back at _you_. What a team we'll make. The timelord with the insatiable hunger and the freak that can never die. I could live off you forever."

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry to disappoint, but I wasn't impressed by our first date let alone our second. You're just not my type."

"I think… I'm going… to be sick!" Rory bellowed from the floor, the room still whizzing past his eyes.

"Just… hold on!" The Doctor-10 barked in response, his fingers screeching on the slippery floor in his efforts to stop his forced rotation. "I'm sure… if my other self's … _not too BUSY_… he might… actually make himself… _useful_!"

"What ever can you mean?" Simulated Ten pouted, his white shoes touching down upon the long table that was the room's main centrepiece. "I'm wonderfully useful. I can make people do whatever I want and I fear absolutely nothing! I bet I could make you explode from the inside out. We could give it a trial run. What do you say?"

"No… thanks!" The Doctor-10 shouted back. "And I wasn't… talking… argh… to you!"

Having taken the hint, The Doctor-11 was already creeping up behind the glimmering, nigh omnipotent creature. He was a little amazed that he had managed not to betray his presence, especially after tripping over a cat that wasn't there halfway across the room. Now he stood, raising the sonic screwdriver he had picked up and aimed it directly at Simulated Ten's back.

"And, take _that_!" he cried bombastically, pressing the button to disperse the projectrons.

Simulated Ten paused in manipulating his whirling victims to turn and stare at The Doctor-11. His eyebrows arched; incredulous.

"Er… hello…" The Doctor-11 said in a very small voice. "Apparently my sonic isn't working at full capacity."

The Doctor-10 grumbled, staggering upright, a feat that took several tries to remain vertical. Riddled with annoyance, he snapped at The Doctor-11. "It's because you're holding a banana!"

Forcing clearer vision, The Doctor-11's face fell as he saw it to be true. Simulated Ten burst out laughing.

"Where the hell did he get a banana?" Rory burbled, see-sawing his arms as he wobbled to his feet.

"I think it rolled out of my pocket," said The Doctor-10. "Never mind that. Run!"

"I can't even stand up!"

Fortunately, the simulated tenth incarnation was now intent on giving his attention to the real eleventh. He gave an awful grin, raised his arm and scrunched his hand into a fist. The banana exploded.

The Doctor-11 yelped and skittered back, only to feel a sudden restriction about his throat. Gasping, he tried to prise off the unseen hand choking him. His eyes locked with the insane simulation's. Still grinning, the image of his younger self gestured and made him rise from the floor, forced him higher and dragged him across to hover ten feet above the table-top.

"Stop it!" The Doctor-10 demanded.

Jack roared, "Let him go!"

"Oooh," Simulated Ten winced mockingly. "That's an unfortunate choice of words. Let him go? Are you really sure about that?"

"Doctor!" Rory called, helplessly.

"I'm… fine … Rory," The Doctor-11 coughed.

Jack shoved The Master roughly in front of him and locked his arm around his throat. "Put him down unharmed or I'll snap his neck," he challenged.

The simulated Doctor's expression turned sour. He lowered The Doctor-11 to five feet, and then everything seemed to happen at once –

Rory bolted across to the fire extinguisher, tearing it out of its bent bracket. The Doctor-10 leapt to retrieve his sonic screwdriver from the floor. Jack was preparing to loosen his grip upon the copy of a man who had tortured him for a year but felt him yanked out of his arms and cast aside like a rag-doll. The Doctor-10 looked up in panic as Simulated Ten stretched out his arm toward Jack.

"No…" The Doctor-11 croaked.

"NO!" The Doctor-10 screamed as his older self was dropped in the same instant that a force slammed into Jack. It swept him clean up the stairs and smashed him out of the _Valiant_'s window. The Doctor-11 smacked down upon the table-top, cracking a spider-web of glass beneath him.

Wasting no more time, Rory rushed at Simulated Ten and blasted him with the extinguisher. The latter consequently gave a harrowing wail and his image began to flicker. His frozen projectrons rattled, suspended in mid-air, before they fell and bounced off the table, cancelling their signal entirely.

The Doctor-10 scrambled for the flight deck, teeth clenched with anxiety. He searched the false skies in vain. "He's gone."

Rory helped The Doctor-11 up and made for the stairs. The Master attempted to intercept them but was promptly met with the nozzle of a fire hose and forced to dissipate. Threat removed, Rory discarded the weapon and drew level with The Doctor-10. "He can't be gone," he disputed. "We're not actually in the air! It's just a room."

"Not to Jack," The Doctor-10 said, bitterly. "He's been made to believe he's fallen thousands of feet into the Skagen Channel." As he spoke, the scene of the _Valiant_ faded around them into plain white walls. "The room is registering its guest as deceased, reverting to basic setting." As they watched, the prone form of Captain Jack Harkness revealed itself a few yards ahead. Never having truly lost it, he still wore his military ensemble.

The Doctor-11, whose bowtie had reappeared, looked at the still figure sadly. "Come on. Prove me wrong, like you always do," he urged.

But Jack did not move.

Rory hurried forward, preparing to resuscitate him but The Doctor-10 held him back.

"Leave him. The impact with the water would have broken every bone in his body. He would have been killed instantly. The only way he's coming back is the way only Jack does, or not at all."

"It's not _real_," Rory snapped. He broke free and came face to face with The Doctor-11, his Doctor.

"Rory," he said gently.

"Get out of my way. I have to see," Rory insisted. "He's your friend and you both just talk like he isn't lying there. Like he isn't -." He broke off. "Doctor…" He stared past the eleventh Doctor's shoulder at the body of Jack Harkness. What looked like pixels seemed to shimmer all over him.

The Doctor-11 spun on his heel to observe. He gasped and ran toward the Captain. Too late – Jack gleamed with light and vanished. "Teleport!" The Doctor-11 announced. "Medical emergency, the system extracted him from his room." As though spurred into excitement by this discovery, he began scurrying about the character-less room, inspecting every lack of detail. Under the baffled and disapproving watch of Rory and his younger self, he bounded off to where the long table had once been, kicked aside the box-shaped trolley that had once been a wheelchair, and crouched down to poke at the silver spheres littering the ground. "Good thinking, Rory. Froze their circuits up a treat."

"I don't understand how. None of it was real."

"Wasn't it?" The Doctor-10 sauntered over and pointed out the forgotten red cylinder that had rolled into a corner of the room. "Room full of fake things and you, Rory, picked out the one thing that couldn't possibly be allowed not to exist. A _fire extinguisher_. Company policy; got to be a real one. Who knows? There might be a fire!"

The Doctor-11 scooped up some of the projectrons and tipped them carefully into his pocket. That done, he stood and began to move for the exit. "Right, we need to get ourselves to another console. This one's shut itself down. Come on, we'll stop off in the other rooms and grab ourselves another extinguisher or two. Rory, you nab that one."

"What about Jack?"

The Doctor-11 stopped; walked back to Rory. He bore the brunt of the young nurse's sour glare and smiled fondly. "Rory, I promise you I'm going to fix this. Trust me." He clasped Rory's shoulder reassuringly and set off once again, collecting his sonic as he went.

Hands deep in his pockets, The Doctor-10 drew alongside Rory. He watched his other self go and offered the fire extinguisher he had retrieved. "Well, I sound very sure of myself."

Rory shrugged. "The longer I know The Doctor, the greater lengths he goes to save people. I've seen him restore the universe, challenge a thousand armies in the sky with only words… blow up a whole Cybership fleet to help me save my wife. He nearly died trying to save my daughter from a time-travelling robot who was, to be fair, punishing her for trying to assassinate him… and then he ended up marrying her…" He shook his head. "You're brilliant. The Doctor is amazing, but you're also one very scary alien. Between you and me, Doctor, you're the kindest, cleverest person I have ever known but I'm worried the weight of your past is dragging you slowly into darkness. If he can't save Jack, or if someone closer to him is lost and he can't save them… I don't know what will happen, what he might do. Even he can't save everyone." Rory took the fire extinguisher and followed after The Doctor-11.

The Doctor-10 stared solemnly at the doorway. "You're not wrong," he murmured. He stooped to pick up the unharmed banana that had reappeared on the white floor and carried on walking. There was a moment in which he hesitated and blinked. "Hang on. He married _your daughter_?" Rory was too far ahead to hear the outburst but he made it anyway. "But that means -." He ran to catch up and skidded out into the central hallway.

"Get back inside!" The Doctor-11 yelled urgently. He was waving frantically from the curve of the corridor. Rory was still within the suite, having withdrawn under The Doctor-11's command.

"What? What is it?" The Doctor-10 hissed.

"Dalek! It's right 'round the corner." The Doctor-11 flattened against the wall, appearing to calculate which way he wanted to run.

The Doctor-10 took a breath, poked his head out and drew it back in as swiftly as possible. Almost immediately his face reappeared through the doorway, mouth puckered in an unimpressed manner. He walked casually out into the hallway.

"What are you doing?" The Doctor-11 yelped.

"Rory," said The Doctor-10 in an airy voice. "Come out here a second, would you?"

Rory obeyed, leaned out and blinked.

"I _think_ it might be best if _I_ lead for a bit. Your Doctor's not entirely recovered from being brain-muddled."

"What?" The Doctor-11 asked, exasperated. "Why?"

"Your Dalek…" The Doctor-10 began.

Rory finished for him. "It's a pot plant."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** _This m_ay_ well be the last chapter I put up on this site as I am more in love with the style of deviantArt and so rarely do anything here. If you wish to find out what happens in this story and others of mine, please seek out "Gallifrey-Pirate" on deviantArt for the family friendly things and "time-and-a-crayon" for the weirder stuff I've been uploading. This story is far more pleasing to the eye on there, I update much more frequently and I am almost certain to respond to your wonderful comments. Thank you so much to all of you, particularly those I've failed to reply to over the last few years. I'll try to pop up a few extra fics and update my profile, but otherwise I have migrated to deviantArt. Please find me there, sweeties =) -x-_

* * *

><p>A good twenty minutes was spent raiding rooms in search of extra fire extinguishers, The Doctors disrupting simulations with their sonics as best they could – one of them a little ineffectually. Once or twice a simulation would get lucky and they would barely escape with dignity or life intact.<p>

"_You_," The Doctor-10 wheezed at The Doctor-11 as they stumbled out of a room full of enraged Martha Jones clones and Amy Pond gangers, "are forbidden to use a fire extinguisher until you can think straight."

"I'm sorry, all right?"

"You nearly took my head off!"

"You were running straight at me. I thought you were one of them."

"I was running at the _door_!" The Doctor-10 roared.

Rory grumbled, ensuring they weren't being followed. "Can we just focus? Please?"

"Well that's just it, isn't it?" The Doctor-10 snapped. "Some of us _can't_."

The Doctor-11 glared. "It's improving. Look, we need to find the most detailed console possible in the hope it's got a better connection to the complex's systems."

They hurried on through the corridors as they plotted.

"Right," said Rory, "so where do we find one? Is there some sort of central hub for the VIP suite, like, I dunno, does it have a local server thing? Do they even have those this far in the future?"

"Usually, no," The Doctor-11 replied. "The majority of systems can run completely wireless without so much as a twitch of interference but when you're operating a delicate simulation matrix, it's wise to keep it contained on a more basic structure with focused access points. Being such an old method, the security has become impeccable through so many years of improvement, firewalls protecting firewalls, top notch technical staff, practically impenetrable from outside forces. In theory there _should_be such a system though, as to knowing how physically central it is, I'm in a paddle-less kayak."

Rory frowned. "You're saying it's incredibly difficult to break through security here… then how has it been sabotaged?"

"Oh come on, Rory," said The Doctor-10. "You're a smart man."

"Because it's all done from the inside? They're letting this happen."

The Doctors nodded.

Rory sighed. "What did you _do_to make someone hate you this much?" He hesitated before adding, "No, never mind. I don't need to think about it. How do we find this possibly-existing core system for where we are?"

"Heh," The Doctor-11 giggled suddenly. "A _suite_heart." He caught himself at the sharp glances he received. "Sorry."

"By making do with what we have," The Doctor-10 answered. "And I really hate to say this but I know where to find the largest console we've come across."

"Why do you hate to -?" Rory began.

"The ballroom," The Doctor-11 winced.

"Ballroom…?" Rory repeated, confused.

"There's a high concentration of projectron activity in there," The Doctor-11 explained. "Big panel to support a more impressive scenario. We may have to fight our way across to it."

"Fire extinguishers primed?" said The Doctor-10.

The Doctor-11 and Rory nodded, presenting arms.

"All right then! Allons-y!" The Doctor-10 rushed on ahead.

As they hurried after him, Rory murmured to The Doctor-11. "Why do you two do that? Real people don't have catchphrases. Do you just wake up in your new life and it's your first word?"

"Oh don't be silly, Rory. Of course they're not 'catchphrases'. I say a lot of things I like the sound of, then I rehash them on numerous occasions and they become habit. You're just noticing some recurrence. I liked 'Allons-y' back then. It was a fun thing to say." He arched an eyebrow at his father-in-law. "Casual interest: what's mine?"

"Well, amongst other things, 'Geronimo', which I think you know full well."

The Doctor-11 blinked. "Do I say it that often?"

Rory gave him a dull stare. "Let me just think about that: every time you joined me and Amy in the pool, you'd dive-bomb the deep end and shout _'Geronimo!'_. The time you materialized the TARDIS horizontally and we all had to climb out – you said it then. Also the time you set the bathroom on fire and had to run in with a radiation suit… by the way, how _did_you set a bathroom on fire? Oh, when we go and meet famous actors, you get that grin on your face before you go and mingle and you do it again. Then, there was that time last week when River was helping you fix something in a 'back-up engine room' and we heard you shout it but had no intention of finding out why."

"We dropped a prototype temporal stabiliser down a passage with a faulty gravity orientator!" The Doctor-11 blurted. "I had to jump after it or we'd have conflicting quantum states popping up all over the place!"

"I didn't think the TARDIS even _had_engines."

"Point made, Rory," The Doctor-11 blundered on, quickly. "I suppose the words I repeat tend to reflect my application to problem solving. I used to say 'Allons-y', and back then I'd go racing through trouble's front door with a big grin and no plan. Now, I suppose I have a tiny bit more of a plan but I tend to drop myself right in the thick of the problem and work my way out again."

"Hence 'Geronimo'."

"Ex-actly."

They caught up with The Doctor-10 and bustled swiftly along the circuit of closed doors.

"It's too quiet, isn't it?" Rory muttered.

"You just had to say that, didn't you?" The Doctor-11 groaned. "But now you mention it, yes, yes it is."

"Sshh," said The Doctor-10.

The three men hushed as a crudely geometric robot hound trundled out from a newly opened doorway. Its tiny satellite dish ears whirred before it wheeled about to look at them.

_"Master?"_it said.

"Hello, K-9," The Doctor-10 replied carefully. "Where's your mistress?"

_"Close by, Master."_

"Oh really? Very close by?"

_"Affirmative."_

"Where is she? And please don't say she's behind us."

_"She is waiting in the next doorway to ambush you, Master."_

"Is she now?" The Doctor-10 cringed. "Good dog. I don't suppose you could distract her could you? Let us slip past?"

_"Negative, Master. I am programmed to obey my mistress. You will follow."_

The Doctor-11 hopped forward, flicking out his sonic and zapping K-9. To Rory and The Doctor-10's astonishment, the robot shut down.

"How did you do that?" The Doctor-10 asked.

"Easy. I pretended K-9 was actually K-9. The simulation believes it has been deactivated and so there he is." He pouted at the dormant robot. "Sorry, boy."

Rory stared at K-9, bewildered. "He called you 'Master'."

"Yeah," said The Doctor-10, matter-of-factly. "He's my dog."

Rory turned to The Doctor-11. "You have a dog?"

"I did, yes. Gave him to a dear friend of mine."

"Older woman? Well spoken, brown hair, wears a jacket…?"

The Doctor-11 beamed fondly. "Sarah Jane Smith, yes. How did you -?"

"She had the dog shoot Amy last time we were in this corridor. Well, not Amy Amy; creepy alternate universe Amy, but, yeah. Think we only got away because his kill-shot hadn't recharged. That and she was probably in love with you."

"Really?" The Doctor-11 mumbled, unconsciously pawing at his bowtie. He cleared his throat. "I mean, we need to keep moving. She's got no back-up now. She's just a journalist. Although, saying that…" He trailed off, wincing. "Never mind, I'll go first." Keeping his fire extinguisher in an unthreatening position at his side, The Doctor-11 crept along until he was almost in line with the next doorway.

He was just about to signal the others to follow when Sarah Jane came running out, expression distraught, eyes shining with tears. For a woman approaching sixty, she was still as beautiful as she had ever been.

"Oh, Doctor!" she cried. She darted over and threw her arms about him before he could pick a suitable reaction.

"Sarah…" he found himself saying. "What's wrong?"

The simulation of Miss Smith sobbed brokenly against him. "Doctor," she sniffed. "I can't bear it anymore. I thought I could live on without you, without life in the TARDIS. I tried. I tried so h-hard. I even made my own family and I've seen so many wonderful things, but it just isn't enough!"

Perplexed and clearly affected, The Doctor-11 put his free arm around her, the one laboured with the fire extinguisher dangling awkwardly behind him. He glanced over at The Doctor-10 and Rory who were edging closer.

"Oh… but you're doing just brilliantly," The Doctor-11 said, feeling as though, for a fleeting moment, he were speaking to the real woman. "You've found 'amazing' on your own turf and you never needed me. I could've been anyone, just someone to bring you out and let you grow." He caught The Doctor10's eye again and indicated for them to slip past.

"You're wrong," Sarah Jane wept. "There's just too much out there and you leave us and we can never see it again. You put us back in our cages and open someone else's."

The Doctor-11 gripped her tightly, unable to prevent a twinge in his hearts. "Because sooner or later I try to fly you too high and you get burned, or I suppose if logic were applied to the physics, you'd freeze first." He sighed, frustrated at his words. "I never wanted to see you hurt."

"That's not your choice alone to make."

The Doctor-10 and Rory tiptoed on, stealing past the delicate conversation.

"Honestly, Sarah," The Doctor-11 asked softly, "would it be better if I didn't take anyone at all?"

She pulled back from him and looked up into his eyes. He swallowed, seeing the same young girl within the older woman that he had loved so long ago. Now he looked young enough to be her son. He hated the simulation for being so vivid.

"No, Doctor, but I never wanted to leave. Please, take me with you. Let me see the stars again."

"It wouldn't work. Even if I wanted to, even though I shouldn't, you won't be able to leave this place." He smiled sadly and brushed a tear from her eye. "You're not real, Sarah. I'm sorry."

Then came the change; the rage in her expression. He wasn't sure how he held it together. He bore the utter hate that burned in her look, withstood the sight of her clenched teeth. She stepped away.

"You don't care about me at all!" she hissed. "You never did. You just used me. Someone to show off to, to let you think you were clever, and then you went off and stole more girls to do the same. You're just a sick, wretched creature that should have died out along with the rest of his race instead of preying upon others."

The Doctor-11 bit his lip, making no attempt to defend himself. The false Sarah Jane looked across at the inactive K-9.

"There, you see," she snarled, voice breaking with grief. "You give us the universe and take it away. You gave me my dog and now he's gone. No, you're not doing that to me." Her hand dipped into her pocket –

But The Doctor-11 saw it coming. He drew his sonic screwdriver as she drew her sonic lipstick.

"Goodbye, Sarah," he said, and disrupted her signal. At once he blasted the revealed projectrons with the extinguisher. He paused for a few seconds to glance over the frozen silver spheres then, with an anguished roar, he brought the base of the extinguisher down upon each of them, crushing the machines to dust. With it now too unsafe to use, he discarded the cylinder and marched after the others.

As he walked the length of the corridor he caught movement beyond one of the half-open doors. Though he knew it to be unwise, he stopped to look. The door opened fully. Inside he saw River, clad in a red velvet princess gown with golden lacing. There was a conical hat atop her curls to match. She was tied to a chair, eyes wide and terrified, her mouth secured with a black gag. Standing beside her was a man in a white shirt and black waistcoat, a top hat perched on his head. The Doctor-11 was not sure what disturbed him most: the fact that both of the room's occupants were staring straight at him, or that the man's cruel smirk was worn upon his own face. His collar was unbuttoned; an empty space that explained the fabric keeping River quiet.

The Doctor-11 grimaced, his eyes still incandescent from his encounter with a false companion. He met up with his younger self and Mr Williams. The Doctor-10 looked at him with a silence that spoke volumes.

"When we find the system at the heart of this complex," The Doctor-11 murmured, "I predict some serious destruction of private property."


End file.
